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A 


1.0 


I.I 


1^  1^ 

1^    112.2 


--  IIIIIM 

lllll  1.8 


L25  1 1.4    ill  1.6 


V] 


<^ 


/] 


O 


^l 


m 


7 


/A 


Photographic 

Sciena)s 
Corporation 


v^:'"^ 


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^^^. 


&?/ 


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26X 


30X 


/ 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


e 

6tails 
IS  du 
nodifier 
ir  une 
ilmage 


3S 


errata 
to 


I  pelure, 


n 

32X 


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1 

2 

3 

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d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  ^^-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
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de  Tangle  sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

s?^ 


The  Heiress  or  Glen  Gower; 


OB, 


THE  HIDDEN  CRIME. 


SY 


•.-■!- 


'4 


iWb 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING. 


CHICAGO : 
M.   A.    DONOHUE   &   Co. 


CSOPTRIGHT,   1868,  BY  DAVIS  &  ELVERSOKi 


\ 

,< 

1 

' 

1 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  GLEN  GOWER. 


PART  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BETWEEN"  MIDNIGHT  AND  MORNING. 

Two  youDg  men,  Harding  and  Hollis,  were  jolting  along  at 
midnight,  in  a  lumbering  stage-coach,  through  one  of  th© 
dreariest  regions  of  New  Jersey.  The  forest  road  was  unut- 
terably dismal  and  forsaken,  the  night  black,  sultry,  moon- 
less, starless.  A  low-lying  black  sky  shut  down  over  the  tree- 
tops  like  a  pall,  and  the  September  gale  shrieked  and  sighed 
through  the  forest  with  the  roar  of  the  angry  sea. 

Mr.  Harding  dropped  off  asleep;  midnight  and  darkness 
and  coming  tempest  had  no  effect  upon  him.  Mr.  Hollis,  of 
a  more  mercurial  temperament,  let  down  the  window  and 
hailed  the  driver. 

"  Halloo,  there!  Driver  ahoy!  What  time  do  we  reach 
Lymeford?*' 

"  About  four  in  the  morning,  sir.*' 

**  And  what  time  does  the  first  train  start  for  Jersey  City?*' 

"Half  after  five,  sir.** 

*'  Any  stopping-places  between  here  and  there?  Any  more 
passengers  coming?  Because,  if  there's  not,  l*m  going  to 
make  myself  comfortable  for  the  night.** 

**  Two  more  a-coming,  sir — places  engaged  yfis*day.  1*11 
take  *em  up  in  about  half  an  hour.  You  go  to  sleep,  sir; 
they  won*t  disturb  you.** 

Mr.  Hollis  shut  down  the  window  and  tried  to  follow  the 
Jehu*s  advice;  but  the  lumbering  stage-coach  bumped  and 
jolted  and  pitched  and  tossed  like  a  ship  in  a  raging  ocean, 
and  the  effort  was  in  vain.  The  shrieking  wind  sounded  in 
his  ears  like  the  voices  of  midnight  demons,  and  when  he 


m 


6  THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 

strove  to  look  out  the  very  blackness  of  darkness  shrouded 
heaven  and  earth. 

**  Beastly  roads!"  growled  Mr.  Hollis;  '*  and  of  all  the  in- 
fernal contrivances  made  for  the  misery  of  man,  stage-coaches 
top  the  pile!  We  may  be  riding  in  the  lower  regions  in  this 
Tartarean  blackness  for  all —  Halloo!  our  new  passengers  at 
last!" 

For  the  stage-coach  had  stopped  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
wild  forest  path.  Neither  town  nor  village  was  near,  but  a 
glimmering  ray  of  light  in  the  blackness  showed  an  isolated 
log  cabin  buried  in  the  deepest  depth  of  the  primeval  forest. 

Hollis  lowered  the  window  again.  That  fitful  ray  of  light 
streamed  red  and  lurid,  piercing  the  blackness  like  a  fiery 
Jance.  By  that  one  red  ray  he  saw  two  figures — the  figures  of 
a  man  and  a  woman — standing  under  the  tossing  trees.  The 
collar  of  the  man's  long,  loose  overcoat  was  so  turned  up,  and 
the  brim  of  his  broad  felt  hat  so  slouched  down,  that  he  was 
entirely  shrouded.  The  woman  was  draped  in  black  from 
head  to  foot,  and  completely  hidden  by  a  long  black  veil. 

**  Mysterious,"  murmured  Mr.  Hollis,  *'  and  melodramatic 
in  the  extreme!  Midnight — a  hut  in  the  woods — a  disguised 
man — a  veiled  lady!  Is  she  young  and  pretty,  I  wonder,  and 
is  it  a  runaway  match?  ' 

They  were  entering  as  he  asked  himself  the  question.  He 
heard  the  man's  voice  as  they  did  so.  The  lady,  holding  her 
black  veil  close  over  her  face,  as  though  dreading,  even  in  the 
darkness,  that  the  wind  might  blow  it  aside,  made  a  false  step 
and  stumbled.     The  man  caught  her  hastily. 

'*Take  care,  Adelia,"  he  said,  impatiently;  "don't  be 
awkward!" 

**  Oh,  she's  his  wife!"  reflected  Hollis.  "  He  never  would 
snap  at  her  like  that  if  she  wasn't  his  wife.  Or,  maybe,  his 
sister.  I  don't  see  the  need  of  that  thick  veil  in  this  pitchy 
gloom;  but  then  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  these  feminine 
mysteries. " 

They  had  taken  their  seats,  and  the  stage-coach  bumped  and 
blundered  on.  The  one  dim  lamp  that  lighted  the  primitive 
vehicle  showed  the  lady  with  her  head  lying  heavily  against 
the  hard  leathern  back  of  the  coach. 

The  man  sat  beside  her,  and  despite  the  turned-up  coat  col- 
lar and  the  turned-down  hat  brim,  Hollis  saw  a  handsome 
aquiline  nose  and  a  pair  of  gleaming  black  eyes. 
^^  **  A  dark  night,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  black,  bright  eyes, 
I  and  a  lonesome  road.  I  hope  you're  not  addicted  to  sea- 
sickness, for  this  jolting  Noah's  ark  is  worse  than  a  Dover 


m 


THB   HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER.  T 

and  Calais  packet  in  a  November  gale.     And  1  know,  for  I've 
iried  both/' 

**  Indeed?'^  very  coldly. 

**  1  have  been  thinking,  as  we  stumbled  along,  that  it  is 
fortunate  we  don't  live  in  Claude  Duval's  or  Jack  Sheppard's 
days.  It  is  just  the  scene — yonder  black  woods — and  just  the 
hour  for  a  brisjandish  attack.  *' 

**  Ah!"  with  a  slight  sneer,  **  you  are  inclined  to  be  fanci- 
ful, my  friend." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause  after  this  rebuff,  but  Mr. 
HoUis  was  not  of  the  easily  vanquished. 

**  We'll  have  the  storm  sooner  than  I  thought,"  he  said, 
'*  to  make  matters  worse.  Here  it  is,  hot  and  heavy,  by 
George!" 

The  gale,  that  had  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  to  gather 
new  strength,  burst  out  again  with  a  wild  shriek  that  made 
the  old  coach  rock  and  rattle.  The  rain  fell  in  heavy,  splash- 
ing drops  for  an  instant,  then  in  a  vast,  roaring  sheet,  as  if 
the  flood-gates  of  heaven  had  opened.  The  lightning  leaped 
out  like  a  two-edged  sword,  and  the  thunder  crashed  over  their 
heads  as  if  sky  and  earth  were  rending  asunder. 

**  A  tropic  tornado,  by  Jove!"  muttered  Mr.  HoUis,  cover- 
ing his  blinded  eyas.  **  We're  going  to  have  a  night  of  it.  I 
hope  the  lady  is  not  afraid  of  lightning?" 

**  She  is  not  in  the  least  afraid!" 

The  manner  in  which  these  words  were  said  left  even  the 
talkative  HoUis  no  dignified  alternative  but  to  hold  his  tongue. 
Luckily,  the  uproar  of  thunder  and  wind  and  rain  awoke  his 
friend,  who  sat  up,  stunned  and  blinded. 

**  Have  I  been  sleeping  a  century  or  two,  Hollis,  and  have 
I  awoke  in  another  world?    Is  it  the  day  of  judgment?" 

**  Something  very  like  it.     Good  Heaven!  what  perfectly 
awful  lightning!    1  tell  you,  Harding,  if  this  old  rattle-trap 
doesn't  tip  over  and  break  all  our  necks  within  the  next  hour, 
it  is  considerably  stronger  on  its  pins  than  I  give  it  credit 
for." 

The  veiled  lady  uttered  a  low  cry  and  laid  hold  of  her  com- 
panion's arm.     He  shook  it  oil  with  a  sudden  motion. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Adelia!"  he  said,  in  the  sharp,  impatient 
tone  he  had  used  before.  **  There  is  no  danger.  This  gen- 
tleman likes  to  hear  himself  talk — that  is  all!'° 

"  Is  it  all?"  angrily  muttered  Hollis.  **  You'll  see  before 
morning.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  1  idy's  sake,  I  would  wish  it 
might.  I'd  risk  my  own  neck  willingly  for  the  sake  of  seeing 
yours  broken,  my  civil  friend." 


,n, 


8 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    GOWER. 


But  the  old  stage-coach  had  buffeted  many  a  storm,  and 
faced  this  one  nobly.  Still  the  rain  fell,  still  the  wind  howled 
through  the  surging,  rocking  trees,  still  blazed  the  lightning, 
still  crashed  the  thunder.  The  road,  bad  at  its  boat,  grew 
worse  and  worse.  The  tossing  and  joltirg  were  something 
fearful. 

The  veiled  lady  clung  to  hor  companion  in  a  speechless 
paroxysm  of  womanly  terror.  That  midnight  scene  was  a 
scene  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  raging  tempest  without; 
that  ouivering  old  stage-coach  making  its  way  along  the  deso- 
late lorest  road,  through  darkness  and  danger  and  wildest 
storm. 

'*  By  Heaven  I'*  cried  Hollis,  springing  wildly  to  his  feet, 
**  the  coach  is  going!" 

He  was  right.  Blinded  by  the  blazing  lightning,  stumbling 
over  the  broken  road,  the  horses  fell  with  a  crash.  There  was 
an  awful  sound  of  rending  and  tearing,  and  then  the  brave  old 
stage-coach  lay  a  shattered  heap  on  the  ground. 

One  cry  alone  had  rung  out,  wild  and  agonized,  as  it  went 
down. 

"  Gerald,  Gerald,  Gerald,  save  me!*' 

Then  the  triumphant  tempest  had  the  deafening  uproar  all 
to  itself,  and  the  lurid  glare  of  the  lightning  lighted  up  the 
desolate  forest  road,  the  prostrate  horses  and  men. 


CHAPTER   n. 

BORN   IN  STORM  AND  MYSTERY. 

An  instant  after  the  overthrow  the  carriage  door  was 
wrenched  violently  open  from  within,  and  a  man  crawled  out 
from  the  ruins.  He  stood  on  his  feet  and  shook  himself^  to 
make  sure  he  was  not  hurt.  A  blinding  blaze  of  lightning 
showed  the  tall,  graceful  figure,  the  handsome,  aquiline  nose, 
and  bright,  dark  eyes  of  the  young  man  who  had  snubbed  Mr. 
Hollis. 

"  No  bones  broken,  thank  fortune!"  he  muttered.  "  The 
gods  that  specially  watch  over  fools  and  scapegraces  must  have 
had  me  in  charge  this  time.  Am  I  the  only  one  left  alive  in 
this  howling  wilderness  to  tell  the  tale?  No,  by  all  that's 
lucky,  here's  another!" 

It  was  the  driver,  who  scrambled  up  with  a  very  rueful  vis- 
age and  very  sore  bones. 

**  Misfortinit,  sir,  ain't  it?"  said  the  driver.  "  Right  here 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  woods,  too^  and  in  this  awful  storm! 


;l 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER.  • 

Ain't  the  other  gents  got  out  yet,  sir?  And  the  lady — 
you're  the  gent  as  come  with  the  lady,  ain't  you?" 

**  Help!  Halloo,  there!  help  us  out,  confound  you!"  cried 
the  scifled  voice  of  Hollis.  **  Be  quick,  I  say!  I'm  afraid  the 
lady's  killed!" 

The  driver  uttered  a  cry  and  sprung  forwpT'cl. 

For  a  second  the  young  man  stood,  and  the  blue  gleam  of 
the  lightning  showed  his  pale  face  lighted  up  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  triumph. 

**  So!"  he  said,  under  his  breath;  "  this  friendly  overthrow 
cuts  the  Gordian  knot  and  puts  an  end  to  all  my  difficulties. 
By  Jove,  the  storm  has  done  me  good  service  to-night!" 

He  came  forward  and  energetically  assisted  the  driver  to 
drag  out  the  prostrate  forms  from  under  the  broken  coach. 
Hollis  had  escaped  with  a  few  bruises,  but  Harding  was 
severely  injured,  and  with  difficulty  could  stand.  As  for  the 
lady,  they  drew  her  prostrate  figure  out  at  last — cold  and  life- 
less, without  sense  or  motion.  It  was  her  companion  who  re- 
ceived her  rigid  form  in  his  arms. 

"  Is  she  dead?"  Hollis  asked,  in  an  awe-struck  whisper. 

The  lightning  blazed  out  with  the  words,  and  for  a  second 
or  two  lighted  up  the  desolate  scene  with  its  ghastly  glare. 
The  young  man  stood  in  their  midst,  holding  the  light,  slen- 
der form  in  his  arms.  The  veil  had  been  torn  off,  and  a  young 
face  whiter  than  marble  lay  against  his  breast.  Then  an 
awful  crash  of  thunder  shook  heaven  and  earth,  and  pitch 
darkness  and  pouring  rain  wrapped  them  like  a  shroud. 

"  She  is  not  dead,"  the  young  man  replied,  his  voice  sound- 
ing strangely  cold  and  passionless.  **  She  has  fainted.  But 
she  will  die,  and  we  all  stand  a  chance  to  follow  if  we  linger 
here  in  this  pitiless  storm." 

"  What  are  we  to  do?"  said  Hollis.  "  We  are  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  woodland.  We  must  shelter  the  lady.  But  for 
ourselves — Harding,  my  poor  fellow,  what  will  become  of 
you?" 

*'  Hold  on!"  cried  the  driver.  "  We  can  do  better  than 
standing  here  in  the  thundering  rain  all  night,  or  1  miss  my 
guess.     Let's  see  a  minute. " 

The  friendly  lightning  blazed  once  more,  and  lighted  up 
the  black  woods  and  dismal  forest  path  for  fully  twenty  sec- 
onds.    Then  thunder  and  darkness  and  a  deluge  of  rain. 

"  I  knew  it!"  said  the  driver.  *'  Hooray!  Larkins's  ain't 
half  a  mile  off.  I've  traveled  this  here  road  too  often  to  be 
took  in.  Half  a  mile  furder  on,  this  here  path  branches  off 
into  three  cross-roads.    At  the  junction  of  them  three  cross- 


10 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    OOWER. 


roads  there's  a  house.  That  house  is  Larkins's,  anrl  Mrs, 
Larkins  is  a  woman  worth  her  weight  in  diuraonds.  Wo  can 
stay  there  all  ni<,'ht,  and  she'll  lix  up  this  young  woman  as 
right  as  a  trivet  afore  morning.'* 

**  Are  you  sure?"  asked  llollis,  doubtfully. 

**  Am  I  sure  my  name  is  Bob  Watson?"  returned  the  stage- 
driver,  contemptuously.  **  1  know  every  turn  of  these  yer 
woodss,  as  you  chaps  know  the  twistings  of  your  native  towns. 
Don't  stand  there  giving  jaw,  but  help  us  rig  up  a  shutter  for 
the  lady,  and  let's  make  oil  at  once!" 

He  laid  hold  of  the  coach  door  as  ho  spoke,  to  wrest  it 
from  its  hinges.  Hollis  assisted  him  as  well  as  he  could  for 
the  blinding  darkness  and  rushing  rain.  In  ten  minutes  the 
rigid  form  of  the  young  girl  was  laid  upon  it,  wrapped  in  her 
cloak,  and  covered  as  well  as  they  could  cover  her  from  the 
raging  storm.  The  four  men  mounted  it  upon  their  shoulders 
and  set  off  through  the  blackness  and  the  tempest  along  the 
slippery,  dangerous  road.  Almost  incessant  flashing  of  the 
lightning  lighted  up  the  ghastly  path,  the  backwoods,  and 
their  own  pale  faces. 

**  Are  we  almost  there,  driver?"  asked  Harding,  at  length. 
"  1  feel  as  if  1  should  drop,  and  my  head  is  reeling  like  a 
drunken  man's. " 

**  'Most  there,"  responded  the  driver,  cheerily.  "  The  next 
flash  will  show  you  the  cross-roads." 

The  next  flash  came  as  he  spoke.  The  men  paused  simul- 
taneously to  breathe.  Yes,  there  were  the  three  cross-roads, 
and  yonder,  beneath  the  trees,  the  dark  outline  of  a  log  cabin. 

**  All  right,  my  hearties!"  Bob  Watson  cried,  cheerily. 
**  Five  minutes  more,  and  we'll  be  able  to  snap  our  fingers  at 
the  lightning  and  rain.     On,  with  a  will!" 

They  stumbled  blindly  forward  in  the  direction  of  the 
house.  No  light  was  visible;  hours  and  hours  ago  the  in- 
mates were  sound  asleep. 

Bob  Watson  found  the  door,  and  thundered  against  it  with 
both  clinched  fists.  The  knocking  awoke  sundry  big  dogs  in 
the  background,  who  set  up  a  furious  barking.  The  uproar 
might  have  awakened  the  dead. 

"Halloo,  within  there!"  yelled  the  driver.  **  Halloo! 
halloo!  halloo!" 

An  upper  window  was  cautiously  raised  an  inch  or  two,  and 
a  woman's  voice  came  down: 

**  Who  are  you?    What  do  you  want?" 

*' Halloo,  Mrs.  Larkins!  I  thought  we'd  rout  you  out 
It's  me — Bob  Watson,  the  stage-driver.     The  coach  upset  in 


f 


i1 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    OOWEIU 


11 


1 


M 


the  storm  half  u  mile  off,  tuul  hero  we  are  i\  passol  of  drowntid 
rata.  We've  got  a  woman  with  us  that's  dead,  or  next  door 
to  it!    So  hurry  and  lot  m  in,  for  tho  sake  of  the  Lord  abovel" 

**  I'll  bo  there  in  half  a  minute,"  replied  the  woman's 
voice,  promp^y;  and  the  window  shut  sharply  down  and  a 
light  appeared  behmd  tho  blind. 

They  waited  in  the  rain  and  tho  darkness — the  pitiless  rain 
and  the  cruel  darkness — drenched  to  the  skin.  The  woman's 
half  minute  seemed  very  long,  but  the  light  came  gleammg 
down-stairs  at  last,  the  bolts  were  witndrawn,  and  the  friendly 
door  held  open. 

*•  Come  in,"  said  the  woman's  voice.     **  Ma^  the  good  Lord 
pity  any  poor  creatures  out  such  a  night  as  thisl" 

Behind  the  woman,  who  held  aloft  a  flaming  tallow  candle, 
stood  two  stalwart  young  men  and  a  strapping  damsel,  all  full 
of  pity  and  curiosity,  and  all  in  scanty  drapery.  The  coach- 
wrecked  voyagers  came  in,  pitiable  objects  surely— drij)ping 
wet,  more  or  less  bruised,  splashed  with  mud,  and  bearing  a 
lifeless  woman  in  their  midst. 

'*  la  she  dead?"  asked  the  woman,  with  a  cry. 

**  Fainted,"  sententiously  answered  the  young  man,  who 
came  foremost.  **  If  you  will  show  me  where  your  bedroom 
regions  are,  I  will  take  her  there  at  once. " 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  with  the  air  of  one  having  the 
right.  The  light  of  the  flaming  tallow  candle  fell  full  upon 
her  face,  and  they  all  saw  it  was  the  face  of  a  girl  in  her  first 
youth,  colorless  as  death,  and  marvelously  beautiful. 

"  Light  another  candle,  Jane  Ann,"  said  the  woman, 
**  and  quick  about  it.  Fetch  these  men  into  the  kitchen,  and 
stir  up  the  fire,  and  set  on  the  kettle  to  bile.  You,  sir,  come 
this  way." 

She  turned  up  the  steep,  rude  stair-way,  h'ght  in  hand,  and 
the  young  man  followed  with  his  burden.  There  were  two 
rooms — rough,  unplastered  attic  rooms— here,  and  into  the 
one  on  the  right  the  woman  led  the  way. 

*'  This  is  my  bedroom  and  my  daughter's,  and  the  best 
we've  got.  Lay  the  young  lady  on  the  bed,  sir,  and  take  off 
that  soaking  cloak."  "^ 

The  young  man  hesitated  an  instant,  then  complied.  As  the 
cloak  was  removed,  and  the  woman  stooped  over  the  motion- 
less figure,  she  recoiled  with  a  cry  of  surprise. 

'*  1  thought  she  was  a  child  I  Why,  good  Lor*  a  massy — " 
she  stopped  short,  looking  the  young  man  full  m  the  faoOt 
But  he  turned  away,  avoiding  her  keen  gazo. 


n 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWER. 


**  ril  go  down  »nd  join  the  rest  now, 


ff 


''When 


he  said, 
you  restore  her  to  consciousness  let  me  know." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  quitted  the  room  as  he  spoke. 
The  woman  stood  gazing  on  the  beautiful,  rigid  face  with  a 
gaze  of  unutterable  womanly  pity. 

'*  ■D-«-  TT«.„.«  creeter!"    she  said. 


80 


Poor  young  creeter!"  she  said.  "  So  young  and 
pretty!  Ought  to  be  playing  with  her  dolls  for  two  years  to 
come  inf=?tead  of —  It's  my  opinion  she'll  never  live  to  see 
morning.'' 

Down-stairs  the  strapping  damsel,  otherwise  Jane  Ann,  had 
rekindled  the  covered  embers,  and  the  friendly  fire  burned 
brightly.  The  kitchen  was  a  long,  low  room,  sparsely  and 
poorly  furnished,  but  the  leaping  fire  made  amends  for  all 
shortcomings.  Around  it  the  four  men  gathered,  steaming 
in  their  wet  garments  until  the  kitchen  was  blind  with  vapor. 
The  kettle  already  sung  on  the  blaze,  and  one  oi  the  young 
farmers  was  dressing  the  contusions  of  Mr.  Harding.  With- 
out the  September  storm  still  raged  with  unabated  fury. 

riollis,  Harding,  the  driver,  and  the  farmers  talked  away 
sociably,  forgetting  their  mishaps  in  the  luxurious  warmth 
and  the  promise  of  speedy  breakfast.  But  the  young  man 
with  the  aquiline  nose  and  black  eyes  sat  moodily  silent,  star- 
ing steadfastly  at  the  tire.  He  was  very  handsome,  now  that 
the  disguising  coat  and  cap  were  removed,  with  thick,  clus- 
tering black  hair  curling  over  a  white  forehead,  a  thick  black 
mustache,  and  hands  white  and  shapely  as  a  woman's.  Very 
handsome,  and  buxom  Jane  Ann  cast  sidelong  glances  at  him 
over  her  work;  and  yet  something  suspiciously  like  an  angry 
scowl  darkened  that  perfect  beauty,  and  grew  blacker  every 
instant. 

An  hour  had  passed,  breakfast  was  quite  ready,  and  the 
men  had  risen  to  gather  round  the  table,  when  Mrs.  Larkins 
appeared  in  their  midst.  Her  glance  singled  out  the  hand- 
some owner  of  the  dark  eyes  at  once. 

"  Will  you  step  this  way,  sir?"  she  said.  **  1  want  to  ask 
you  a  question. " 

The  young  man  followed  her  out  into  the  passage.  The  log 
cabin  comprised  but  the  three  rooms  altogether.  The  woman 
held  the  candle  in  her  hand,  and  now  she  raised  it  until  its 
light  fell  full  upon  the  darkly  handsome  face.  Her  resolute 
gray  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  as  though  she  would  read  his 
inmost  heart. 

"  That  unfortunate  young  girl  upstairs  is  your  wife,  sir,  is 
she  not?"  sh.?  abruptly  demanded. 

The  young  man  smiled— a  most  peculiar  and  inexplicable 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBh, 


18 


1: 


gmile.  He  had  been  smoking  a  cigar  when  the  woman  sum- 
moned him  away,  and  he  did  not  taise  the  trouble  to  remove 
it  from  his  lips. 

"  Has  she  told  you  so?"  he  asked. 

**  She  has  told  me  nothing.  I  don't  think  she  will  ever 
speak  to  any  one  again  in  this  world,  poor  soul!  1  don\ 
think  she  will  ever  live  to  see  another  sun  rise  and  set.  K 
was  madness  for  her  to  attempt  this  journey  at  all.'' 

The  handsome  face  into  which  she  looked  as  she  spoiie  was 
moveless  as  a  stone  mask. 

"  Poor  little  girl!"  he  said;  **  but  she  would  come.  You 
will  do  all  you  can  for  her,  my  good  Mrs.  Larkins,  and  as  far 
as  money  can  reward  you,  you  shall  be  rewarded.  1  suppose 
a  doctor  is  a  wild  impossibility  in  this  waste  and  howling  wil- 
derness." 

*'  There  is  no  doctor  nearer  than  Lyme  ford,  and  all  the  doc- 
tors on  earth  can  not  conquer  death.  ^' 

**  Very  true;  nevertheless,  1  must  endeavor  to  reach  LjxJie- 
ford  some  time  to-day,  and  send  a  physician  from  there.  We 
must  make  an  effort,  you  know." 

"  You  have  not  answered  my  question,  sir,"  the  woman 
said,  sharply.     "  Is  she  your  wife? 

"  My  good  soul,  that  is  beside  the  question,  isn't  it?  What 
does  it  matter  to  you  whether  she  is  my  wife,  or  any  one's 
wife,  so  that  you  are  well  paid?" 

"  It  matters  this,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Larkins,  with  flash- 
ing eyes,  "  that  I'm  an  honest  woman  and  the  mother  of  a 
daughter,  and  that  I  don't  keep  open  house  for — " 

The  young  man's  white  fingers  covered  her  lips. 

"  Don't  say  it,"  he  said — *'  don't!  You  would  be  sorry  for 
it  after,  I  assure  you  you  would.  Besides,  what  can  you  do? 
You  can't  turn  her  out  into  the  storm  to  die.  Take  care  of 
her  while  she  lives — take  care  of  her  until  she  dies,  if  die  she 
must.  I  repeat,  you  shall  be  amply  rewarded.  And  now,  if 
you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  return  to  breakfast,  for  I  shall  really 
need  that  meal  if  I'm  to  travel  to  Lymeford  in  the  storm." 

He  left  her  abruptly  as  he  spoke,  and  the  woman  looKed 
after  him  with  angry  eyes. 

*'  He's  got  the  face  of  an  angel  and  the  heart  of  a  devil!" 
she  said,  indignantly.      *'  It's  the  old  story,  I  suppose — a 

Sretty  little  innocent  creature,  a  handsome  scoundrel,  a  home 
eserted,  and  hearts   broken.     Ah!  dear  me,  it's  a  wicked 
world!    Pooi  little  suffering  soul!    I'll  do  what  I  can  for 
her — her  blood  will  not  be  on  my  head." 
She  ascended  to  the  chamber  above,  and  the  young  maa 


w 


14 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


went  back  to  his  breakfast.  But  he  had  very  little  appetite 
for  that  meal;  he  drank  a  cup  of  Jane  Ann's  tea,  swallowed  a 
mouthful  of  breud  as  though  it  had  been  a  pill,  and  rose 
abruptly  from  the  table. 

"  The  storm  is  subsiding,''  he  said;  "  driver,  I'll  ride  with 
you  to  Lymeford." 

"  All  right,  sir;  Tom  and  me's  off  for  the  horses.  I'll 
mount  one,  you  can  have  t'other.  But  you'd  be  a  si;4ht  more 
comfortable  waiting  here." 

The  stage-driver  and  one  of  the  young  farmers  set  off  for 
the  scene  of  the  disaster.  Morning  had  broken,  rainy  and 
raw,  but  the  storm  had  expended  its  fury;  the  lightning  had 
eeased,  and  the  rain  fell  softly.  Hollis  and  his  friend  drew 
close  to  the  fire  and  lighted  their  pipes,  but  the  moody 
stranger  stood  solitary  by  the  window,  staring  out  at  the  dull 
dawn.  Not  once  did  he  move;  he  stood  there,  a  tall,  dark 
ghost,  until  the  return  of  the  two  meu  with  the  horses. 
Then,  without  one  word  of  farewell,  he  donned  hat  and  coat, 
left  the  house,  mounted  one  of  the  jaded  steeds,  and  rode  away. 

*'  It's  like  the  Marble  Guest  in  *  Don  Giovanni,'  "  said  Hol- 
lis, with  a  shrug.  '*  His  anxiety  about  that  pretty  little 
thing  upstairs  won't  wear  him  into  the  grave.  I  suppose  he's 
gone  for  a  doctor." 

Yes,  he  had  gone  for  a  doctor.  Five  hours  after,  when  Bob 
Watson  clattered  up  to  the  house  with  fresh  horses  and 
vehicle,  a  young  man  in  spectacles  sprung  out  and  announced 
himself  as  Doctor  Phelps.  Mrs.  Larkins  met  him,  and 
ushered  him  upstairs  at  once. 

*'  Where's  he — the  j'oung  gentleman?"  she  asked. 

"  Waiting  at  Lymeford.  But  he's  fee'd  me  handsomely, 
Mrs.  Larkins,  and  he  sent  you  this  to  reward  you,  and  bury 
her  if  she  dies — to  reward  you  and  provide  for  all  present 
necessities  if  she  lives." 

He  showed  her  a  roll  of  notes — one  hundred  dollars  in  all. 

**  Who  is  he?"  Mrs.  Larkins  asked. 

"  Nevtr  set  eyes  on  him  before— don't  know  him  from 
Adam." 

And  he  didn't  tell  you  his  name,  nor  hers?" 
Not  he,  although  I  asked  him.     He  told  me  my  business 
was  to  bring  her  round  if  I  could,  and  not  to  ask  unnecessary 
questions.     He's  to  wait  at  Lymeford  until  I  return,  and  hear 
the  result," 

Yes,  the  young  man  was  waiting  at  Lymeford— waiting  in 
a  fever  of  impatience  that  kept  him  pacing  up  and  down  h'S 
hotel  room  like  a  caged  tiger. 


n 


it 


'.•1 


I 


nt 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GO  WEB. 


15 


wish 


•*  Will  she  live — will  she  die?"  So  rang  the  one  constant 
refrain.  **  Am  I  to  be  free,  or  are  two  lired  to  drag  me  down 
instead  of  one?  Oh,  fool,  fool,  fool  that  I  have  been!  to  risk 
all  for  love  of  a  pretty  face,  and  think  the  world  well  lost!" 

The  dismal  day  wore  on,  the  more  dismal  evening  settled 
down  over  the  dull  little  country  town.^  Just  as  the  dusk 
deepened  into  darkness.  Dr.  Phelps's  gig  rattled  up  to  the 
hotel,  and  the  doctor,  wet  and  tired,  strode  into  the  little  par- 
lor. 

The  two  men  stood  face  to  face  in  the  gloom,  but  out  of 
that  gloom  one  face  shone  white  as  marble. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  in  a  breathless  whisper,  *'  is  it  life  or  is 
it  death?" 

"It  is  death!" 

Slowly  and  solemnly  that  answer  came.  The  young  man 
staggered  back  a  pace  and  put  his  hand  before  his  face. 

"  The  child  may  live— she  will  die," 

"  The  child— girl  or  boy?" 

**  A  girl.     The  mother  will  hardly  see  morning." 

"  You  may  go,"  said  the  young  man,  hoarsely.     "  I 
to  be  alone." 

The  doctor  left.  The  gig  had  hardly  rolled  out  of  sight  in 
the  darkness  when  the  parlor  bell  rang. 

"  Is  there  a  train  lor  Jersey  City  to-night?"  the  voice 
spoke  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  Yes,  sir;  in  half  an  hour  the  cars  pass  through  Lyme- 
ford."  • 

*'  1  must  catch  that  train.  Order  a  conveyance  at  once  to 
take  me  to  the  station." 

Half  an  hour  la'ar  the  handsome  young  man  with  the  aqui- 
line nose  and  dark,  bright  eyes  was  leaving  dreary  Lymeford 
far  behind  him,  and  leaving  no  clew  to  the  mystery  that  en- 
shrouded him.  Who  he  was,  where  he  came  from,  what  that 
dying  girl  was  or  had  been  to  him,  were  among  the  impene- 
trable secrets  locked  in  his  own  dark  soul. 

And  far  away  in  that  wretched  log  hut  in  the  woods,  while 
the  dark  and  rainy  night  shut  down,  that  forsaken  young  girl 
lay,  watched  over  by  strangers,  whiter  and  colder  than  win- 
ter's snow.  And  in  good  Mrs.  Larkins's  lap  slumbered  the 
new-born  baby,  as  unconscious  of  the  strangely  checkered  life 
before  it  as  the  nurse  w»8  of  the  dark  mystery  that  wrapped 
Hs  dying  mother. 


16 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SHOT  DEADI 

The  October  afteraoon  was  slowly  darkening  into  a  chill 
and  windy  night.  It  was  very  near  the  close  of  the  month, 
and  there  was  an  icy  breath  of  winter  in  the  shrill  gale  sigh- 
ing through  the  woods  and  over  the  sandy  Jersey  plains.  It 
was  late  in  October,  and  the  yello  v  leaves  whirled  away  in 
melancholy  drifts,  and  black,  jagged  clouds,  prescient  of  com- 
ing storm,  sailed  slowly  up  the  low-lying  slcy. 

Mrs.  Larkins's  best  bedroom,  bare  and  forlorn  enough  at 
its  best,  looked  doubly  bare  and  forlorn  in  the  gray  light  of 
this  bleak  October  afternoon.  Down-stairs  the  fire  burned 
brightly,  and  buxom  Jane  Ann  sung  blithely  over  her  work; 
but  there  where  Mrs.  Larkius's  patient  sat,  with  her  baby  on 
her  knee,  looking  blankly  out  at  the  dying  day,  the  view 
within  and  without  was  desolation  itself. 

The  young  girl — she  could  not  have  been  quite  eighteen- — 
sat  quite  alone,  her  hands  folded,  her  great  dark  eyes  looking 
straight  before  her  with  a  look  of  heavy,  hopeless  despair.  A 
strange  face  for  that  log  hut  in  the  woods — a  beautiful,  high- 
bred face,  with  somber,  fathomless  eyes,  and  heavy  waves  of 
rich  black  hair. 

For,  despite  Dr.  Phelps,  despite  Mrs.  Larkins,  despite  the 
opinion  of  all  who  saw  her,  the  dying  girl  left  to  her  fate  in 
the  lone  house  in  the  forest  had  not  died.  Very  slowly — so 
slowly  that  for  days  and  weeks  the  fluttering  spirit  hovered  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow — but  surely,  life  won  the  victory. 
The  large  dark  eyes  opened,  with  life  and  reason  burning 
dimly  in  their  depths,  and  a  faint  voice  asked  for  **  Gerald," 
**  Eleanor,"  *'  papa,"  and  then  sleep  took  her,  and  life  beat 
more  strongly  than  ever  when  she  awoke. 

September  passed,  October  came,  and,  pale  as  a  spirit,  she 
rose  from  that  sick-bed.  But  the  mystery  that  had  wrapped 
her  from  the  first  was  the  same  impenetrable  mystery  now. 
Good  Mrs.  Larkins's  burning  curiosity  burned  as  hopelessly 
as  ever  still. 

After  those  first  feebly  murmured  names,  she  had  asked  no 
questions  for  more  than  a  week.  Then  one  night,  as  Mrs. 
Larkins  sat  alone  by  her  bedside,  the  dark  eyes  turned  full 
upon  her,  and  the  low  voioe  asked  a  question: 

**  Where  is  Gerald?" 


|i 


of 


I'M 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    GOWER. 


17 


"  The  young  man  who  left  you  here?  Oh,  he's  gone  long 
aigo." 

"  Gone!" 

"  Yes,  and  good  riddance;  for  if  ever  there  was  a  heartless 
scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  he's  that  scoundrel  I  He 
left  you  here  dying,  as  he  thought,  and  much  he  cared!" 

The  white  face  never  changed — the  dark  eyes  never  left  the 
grim  countenance  of  the  nurse. 

**  Where  am  1?  Who  are  you?  How  do  I  come  to  be 
here?" 

Mrs.  Larkins  briefly  related  the  mishap  to  the  stage-coach, 
and  what  had  followed. 

**  And  I  never  thought  to  sit  and  talk  to  you  like  this,  for 
of  all  the  miracles  ever  1  heard  of,  your  life  being  spared  is  the 
greatest.     Tell  me,  my  dear,  are  you  that  bad  man's  wife?" 

The  white  face  darkened  suddenly — darkened  with  such 
deadly  hatred  that  good  Mrs.  Larkins  recoiled. 

'*  There!  there!'  she  exclaimed;  "  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
don't  look  like  that!  I  won't  ask  any  more  questions.  Look 
at  the  baby — pretty  little  sleeping  pet!" 

She  held  it  up,  but  the  young  mother  put  out  one  wasted 
hand  and  thrust  it  away  with  a  gesture  of  fierce  repulsion. 

**  Take  it  out  of  my  sight!"  she  cried.  **  I  hate  the  sight 
of  it!  Viper  and  spawn  of  a  viper!  I  would  strangle  it  if  I 
dared!" 

"  The  Lord  forgive  you,  you  wicked  mother!"  Mrs.  Lar- 
kins said,  unutterably  shocked.  '*  You  are  as  bad  at  heart 
as  that  bad  man." 

The  young  girl  sat  suddenly  upright  in  bed,  and  stared 
Mrs.  Larkins  full  in  the  face  with  blazing  black  eyes. 

**  Bad?  Yes,  there  is  a  demon  incarnate  in  my  heart  when 
I  think  of  that  villain  and  my  wrongs!  I  loved  him — 1  left 
all  for  him — and  this  is  my  reward!  But  let  him  beware,  tor, 
by  the  Heaven  above  me,  Til  have  such  vengeance  upon  him 
as  woman  never  had  on  man  before!" 

She  fell  back  on  her  pillow,  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and 
from  that  moment  fell  into  a  sullen  silence  nothing  ever  in- 
duced her  to  break. 

This  bleak  October  evening  she  had  taken  her  child  in  her 
arms  for  the  first  time.  It  was  the  tiniest  mite  of  babyhood, 
with  two  solemn  black  eyes  and  a  waxen-white  face — a  pretty 
baby,  with  regular  features  and  dead-black  hair.  There  was 
little  love  in  the  young  mother's  f ft«e  as  ihe  gazed  on  the  tiny, 
helpless  mite.  Mrs.  Larkins,  entering  suddenly,  stood  gazing 
in  some  alarm. 


18 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


*«  n 


There  is  no  need  of  your  wearing  that  frightened  face, 
Mrs.  Larkins,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  bitter  smile.  **  I  have 
little  reason  to  love  it,  but  1  won't  kill  it.  It  is  like  him— 
don't  you  think  so?" 

**  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Larkins,  **  it  is  like  him." 

'*  And  will  grow  up  to  be  like  him  in  heart  as  well  as  in 
face,  no  doubt.  Mrs.  Larkins,  in  all  this  wide  earth  there  is 
no  such  villain  as  that  man.  I  loved  him  once — oh,  my  God, 
fio  passionately,  so  madly!  But  I  hate  him  now!  1  hate  him! 
1  hate  him!    I  hate  him!" 

*'Hush,  for  pity's  sake!  Don't  think  of  him!  Don't 
speak  of  him!  It  frightens  me  to  hear  you!  Talk  of  biiby 
instead.  Do  you  know  it  is  time  she  was  baptized?  Tell  me 
what  you  want  her  called." 

The  young  mother's  answer  was  to  snatch  the  baby  off  her 
lap  and  fling  it  roughly  into  that  of  her  compauioti. 

*'  What  do  I  care?  Call  her  what  you  please!  What  is  it 
to  me?  Call  her  Maldetta.  It  is  a  fitting  name.  Maldetta, 
the  Accursed!" 

The  white  hands  clinched,  the  dark  eyes  blazed,  the  teeth 
locked  together  convulsively.  Mrs.  Larkins  got  up  in  silent 
despair  and  left  the  room. 

She  sat  by  the  window  while  the  chill  evening  darkened 
down,  her  face  rigid  as  marble,  her  eyes  staring  blankly  into 
the  darkness.  But  when  the  family  had  retired  to  rest  and 
all  was  still,  she  rose,  took  down  her  cloak  and  bonnet  from 
the  peg  where  they  hung,  and  noiselessly  stole  out  of  the 
house.  The  October  moon  had  risen,  and  by  its  light  she 
waited  for  the  stage  to  Lymeford  to  pass.  Without  one  word 
to  tell  whither  she  was  going  or  when  she  would  return,  she 
turned  her  back  upon  her  child  and  disappeared,  with  the  im- 
penetrable mystery  of  her  life  and  her  name  the  same  im- 
penetrable mystery  still. 

m:  *  *  *  tt  *  If 

It  was  Marion  Goldham's  wedding-night.  Marion  Gold- 
ham,  heiress,  beauty  and  belle,  was  to-night  to  bless  for  life 
one  of  her  innumerable  adorers.  All  Fifth  Avenue  was  on 
the  qui  vive,  for  it  is  not  every  day  that  the  heiress  of  fabulous 
wealth,  the  possessor  of  fabulous  beauty,  rejects  a  dozen  mill- 
ionaires for  the  handsome  face  and  romantic  devotion  of  a  pen- 
niless artist.  Yes,  it  was  a  love-match,  pure  and  simple,  and 
beautiful  Marion,  in  the  midst  of  her  dear  five  hundred 
friends,  becomes  to-night  Mrs.  Oerald  Rosslyn. 

Look  at  her  as  she  stands  in  her  dressing-room,  in  the  midst 
of  a  bevy  of  sparkling  bride-maids — a  dazzling  vision  surely. 


'  ii'i-'r.'.    ■■iI<_-.-ji.«lfiL-:i(-*iC_-.i..  . 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEE. 


1» 


;ened  face, 

"  I  have 

like  him — 


3  well  as  in 
fth  there  is 
1,  my  God, 
.  hate  him! 

u!  Don't 
Ik  of  biiby 
?    Tell  me 

aby  off  her 

What  is  it 
Maldetta, 

I,  the  teeth 
ip  in  silent 

;  darkened 
lankly  into 
,0  rest  and 
onnet  from 
out  of  the 
8  light  she 
[t  one  word 
return,  she 
ith  the  im- 
same  im- 

* 

rion  Gold- 
ess  for  life 
nue  was  on 
of  fabulous 
iozen  mill- 
n  of  a  pen- 
iimple,  and 
e  hundred 

1  the  midst 
ion  surely. 


The  exquisite,  drooping  face,  the  tall,  willowy  figure  in  bil 
lows  of  translucent  silk  and  lace,  frosted  with  seed  pearla 
That  maguificent  Parisian  veil  of  priceless  lace  drapes  her  likv 
palpable  mist  from  head  to  foot,  and  the  perfect  arms  and 
necK  gleam  through  its  silvery  glitter  like  marble.  A  bright 
glory  of  amber  hair  crowns  that  radiant  face,  and  from  her 
veiled  head  to  her  sandaled  foot  the  silver,  shining  vision  is 
complete. 

**  How  exquisite!  how  radiant!"  is  the  universal  cry. 
"Oh,  Marion!  You  never  looked  half  so  lovely  as  you  do 
to-night!" 

The  magnificent  mansion  is  all  ablaze.  The  long  drawing- 
room  on  the  first  floor  i^  one  brilliant  vista  of  splendor  with 
alabaster  lamps,  and  hot-house  flowers,  and  superbly  dressed 
ladies  a-glitter  with  diamonds.  And  everything  is  ready,  and 
the  clergyman  is  waiting,  and  the  bridegroom  has  arrived,  and 
the  guests  are  in  breathless  expectation,  and  the  bride's  heart 
is  fluttering  like  a  frightened  bird — but  not  with  fear.  Oh, 
no!  Words  are  poor  and  weak  to  tell  how  passionately  she 
worships  her  handsome  lover — how  unutterably  blessed  she  is 
to-night. 

Outside  the  December  wind  wails  and  the  fluttering  snow 
falls.  There  is  no  moon,  no  stars  in  the  black  night  sky,  and 
the  trees  around  the  stately  mansion  rattle  their  gaunt  arms 
Uke  dead  bones,  and  the  fluttering  figure  that  creeps  stealthily 
in  and  cowers  under  those  lighted  windows  may  well  wear 
that  ghastly,  death- white  face.  The  window  under  which 
that  shrouded,  creeping  figure  crouches  is  wide  opeu,  for  the 
thronged  drawing-room  is  oppresisvely  warm,  and  the  blazing 
eyes  in  that  livid  face  can  see  all  that  goes  on  within. 

The  bride  comes  out  of  her  *'  maiden  bower  "  with  her  bevy 
of  snow-white  nymphs,  and  Gerald  Eosslyn,  with  the  face  of 
ft  Greek  god,  radiant  with  triumph  and  happiness,  draws  the 
fairy  hand  within  his  arm. 

*'  My  life!  my  love!  my  darling!"  he  whispers,  passionately. 
"My  own  forever!  My  beautiful  bride!  Oh,  Marion!  lam 
the  happiest  man  in  all  the  wide  earth  to-night!" 

She  does  not  speak.  The  blue  eyes  lift  with  one  eloquent 
glance,  then  flutter  down,  for  there  are  joys  on  earth  too  in- 
tense for  words  or  smiles. 

They  enter  the  drawing-room — they  stand  before  the  clergy- 
man. There  is  a  murmur  and  a  flutter  of  irrepressible  ad- 
miration throughout  the  high-bred  assembly,  for  surely  man 
and  woman  more  perfectly  beautiful  never  yet  st  1  before 
Christian  minister  to  be  made  husband  and  wife.     Outside  a 


m  \ 


ff 


20 


THE   HEIRESS    OP   GLEN   GOWER. 


cowering  figure  springs  erect,  and  the  eyes  in  the  darkueM 
blaze  like  the  eyes  of  a  tiger. 

The  ceremony  begins — it  ends.  The  ring  slips  over  the 
slender  finger,  and  Marion  Goldham  is  Marion  Rosslyn  for 
life.  The  radiant  bridegroom  bends  down  to  kiss  the  lovely 
blushing  face,  and  at  that  instant  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol 
rings  through  the  room.  Without  word  or  cry  the  bridegroom 
goes  crashing  down  headlong,  and  the  bride's  white  dress  is 
splashed  with  blood. 

There  are  wild  shrieks — women  run  frantically  about — men 
stand  paralyzed.  For  a  moment  eyery  one  is  so  stunned  that 
nothing  is  done — nothing  is  said.  Then  some  one  lifts  up  the 
prostrate  man,  looks  in  his  face  an  instant,  and  speaks. 

"Shot  dead!"  he  says.  "The  bullet  went  straight 
through  his  brain." 

But  the  speaker  was  mistaken — Gerald  Rosslyn  was  not 
dead.  Better  for  him  if  the  bullet  had  done  its  work  and 
left  him  lifeless  upon  the  floor,  rather  than  he  should  have 
lived  to  persecute  the  woman  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his 
wiles. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MISS  STONE. 

The  August  day,  blazing  hot,  is  closing  slowly,  blazing  hot 
still.  The  brassy  August  sun,  that  has  rolled  like  a  wheel  of 
fire  through  a  dazzling  sky,  is  setting  in  a  lurid  glory  of  crim- 
son and  copper-colored  clouds.  Not  a  breath  of  air  stirs  the 
lifeless  trees,  no  cooling  dew  moistens  the  parched  and  burned 
grass,  and  the  western  windows  of  Squire  Ryder's  handsome 
villa  are  flecked  with  scarlet  splashes  that  gleam  like  blood. 
Within  and  without  the  house  all  is  still — no  one  moves— the 
very  dogs  are  too  lazy  to  bark,  and  away  yonder,  in  the  hazy 
distance,  the  village  lies  mute  and  noiseless — a  painted  village 
under  painted  trees. 

The  lurid  glory  of  the  sunset  is  at  its  brightest  when  the 
house  door  opens  and  a  young  lady  walks  out — a  young  lady 
of  not  more  than  six-and-twenty,  perhaps,  but  with  a  face  out 
of  which  all  the  brightness  of  youth  has  gone.  A  handsome 
face,  darkly  beautiful  once,  darkly  beautiful  still,  but  for  that 
fixed  and  changeless  pallor  that  leaves  it  cold  and  rigid  as 
marble. 

The  young  lady  walks  slowly  down  the  winding  drive,  with 
the  red  blaze  of  the  lurid  sunset  gleaming  through  her  dead- 
black  hair,  and  flashing  duskily  in  her  somber  black  eyes. 


THl    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


21 


(( 


(( 


She  is  tall  and  slender,  and  stately  as  ^,  young  (j[ueen,  and  her 
black  dress  falls  around  her  with  a  certain  classic  grace.  She 
is  all  in  black,  lighted  up  at  the  white  throat  with  a  knot  of 
scarlet  ribbon,  and  with  one  blood-red  flower  shining  like  a 
star  in  her  dead-black  lair.  All  crimson  and  black,  with 
those  great  dusky  eyes,  that  queenly  grace  and  royal  beauty, 
she  looks  like  some  Creole  princess  dethroned  and  uncrowned; 
but  she  is  only  Squire  Ryder's  nursery  governess,  drudging 
out  her  dreary  life  for  a  pitiful  stipend. 

As  she  goes  down  the  winding  drive  she  passes  a  window 
where  Mrs.  Squire  Byder  sits  fanning  herself  languidly  and 
talking  to  a  female  friend.  Two  pairs  of  eyes  lollow  that 
stately  figure  and  sloif,  graceful  walk. 

**  Vvhat  a  very  handsome  person  Miss  Stone  isl"  the  friend 
remarks — *'  a  thorough  lady  in  look  and  manner.  She  sweeps 
across  a  room  with  the  air  of  a  royal  duchess,  and  her  black 
eyes  go  through  one  like  two  flashes  of  lightning.  I  think  she 
is  a  person  who  has  seen  better  days." 

'*  I  think  she's  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Byder,  sitting  up  suddenly,  wit^  very  unwonted  animation. 
"I  hate  her!    There!" 
My  dear  Mrs.  Ryder!" 

I  tell  you  I  do,  and  1  wouldn't  keep  her  an  hour  in  the 
house  if  it  wasn't  lor  Mr.  Ryder.  Where  there's  mystery  and 
secrecy  there's  guilt,  and  Miss  Stone's  antecedents,  from  the 
hour  she  entered  this  house,  are  profoundest  secrets.  We 
don't  know  where  she  came  from,  or  where  she  belongs,  or 
who  are  her  friends,  or  what  she  was  before  she  came  here. 
She  might  have  dropped  from  the  moon  for  all  we  know,  or 
are  likely  to  know,  to  the  contrary.  And  you  can't  ask  her 
any  questions.  I  declare,  it's  ridiculous,  but  I  could  no  more 
venture  to  cross-question  that  young  woman  than  I  could  walk 
into  the  jaws  of  a  hungry  wolf.  There's  a  look  in  that  still, 
white  face  of  hers,  and  in  those  big,  dismal  black  eyes  that— ^ 
Oh,  I  detest  her!"  cried  Mrs.  Ryder,  vehemently,  '*  and  I'd 
turn  her  out-of-doors  to-morrow  if  I  dared!" 

"  Dear  me!  And  how  long  has  she  been  a  member  of  vour 
family?"  ^ 

**  About  six  months,  I  suppose.  It  seems  like  six  years, 
though,  for  I've  never  dared  to  call  my  soul  my  own  since  she 
came  among  us." 

"  1  wonder  you  ever  engaged  her,  disliking  her  so  much." 

**  I  tell  you  it  was  Mr.  Ryder!  Men  are  so  absurd,  and  ar« 
sure  to  be  caught  by  handsome  female  impostors.  She  came 
Jiere  as  seamstress  first,  recommended  by  Mrs.  Chillingwortl*. 


22 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


> 


.;  ■ 


and  really  she  does  embroider  exquisitaly.  My  husband  took 
an  interest  in  her  from  the  beginning — she  looks  so  remark- 
ably unlike  most  young  persons  of  her  class — and  when  her  en- 
gagement was  about  concluded  he  asked  her  to  stay  as  gover- 
ness to  the  children.  She  is  surprisingly  accomplished,  plays 
well,  sings  well,  speaks  French,  and  draws  beautifully.  Now, 
that  is  in  itself  suspicious — young  ladies  possessing  these  ac- 
complishments don't  often  find  it  necessary  to  go  out  as 
seamstresses.  And  no  one  need  take  a  secoml  look  at  her  face 
to  see  that  her  history  has  been  no  ordinary  one.  There  is 
something  wrong  and  suspicious  about  her,  and  I  am  afraid  of 
her,  and  1  don't  think  she  is  a  fit  instructress  for  innocent 
children,  and  I  wish  to  mercy  she  was  safely  out  of  the  house." 

*'  Does  she  know  you  dislike  her?" 

**  Ob,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  The  face  of  that  marble 
Flora  there  is  not  more  stony  and  expressionless  than  hers. 
She  might  be  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  for  all  that  set,  white 
face  of  hers  says  to  the  contrary. " 

The  object  of  all  this  animadversion  had  quite  disappeared 
from  view.  She  had  followed  the  long  drive  and  entered  a 
leafy  arcade,  where  the  birds  twittered  in  the  green  branches, 
and  the  red  glory  of  the  summer  sunset  came  in  fiery  lances 
through  the  boles  of  the  tall  trees.  Against  one  of  those  trees 
she  leaned,  and  the  somber  dark  ey?s  fixed  themselves  gloomily 
on  all  that  gorgeous  coloring  of  sky  and  land. 

**  My  birthday,"  she  said  in  a  hushed  voice  to  herself — 
**  twenty-six  years  old  to-day.  Only  six-and-twenty,  and  all 
that  makes  life  worth  the  living  gone  years  and  years  ago  I 
Only  six-and-twenty,  and  steeped  to  the  lips  in  crime  and 
misery  and  despair!  Only  six-and-twenty,  and,  oh!  great 
God!  what  a  lost,  miserable,  guilty  wretch  I  am!" 

She  wrung  her  hands  together,  and  her  face  worked  con- 
vulsively. The  black  eyes  fixed  on  the  sunset  saw  nothing 
but  her  own  black  despair. 

**  If  I  only  dared  die!  If  I  only  dared  swallow  the  contents 
of  that  bottle  of  laudanum  in  my  trunk  upstairs  and  end  it 
all — the  poverty,  the  wretchedness,  the  maddening  remorse! 
But  I  dare  not — I  dare  not!  Life  is  full  of  horrors,  but  death 
is  a  thousand  times  more  horrible  still!" 

She  shivered  as  she  thought  the  last  dreadful  thought,  even 
m  the  hot  August  air. 

**  Ten  years  ago,"  she  went  on,  in  that  dark  communion 
with  her  own  heart,  "  and  youth  and  beauty  and  hope  and 
love  were  all  mine.  In  all  the  wide  world  I  don't  think  there 
was  one  happier  being  than  Adelia  Lyon.     And  I  loved  him.J 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


2d 


Jf 


Oh,  my  heart!  so  dearly— so  dearly!  And  I  trusted  him,  and 
1  gave  up  home  and  honor  and  Heaven  and  my  own  soul  for 
the  raaduesa  of  that  mad  love!  What  was  my  reward?  One 
short  year  of  bliss  indescribable,  and  then  the  dream  was  at 
an  end.  A  second  year  came,  of  coldness  and  reproaches  and 
neglect,  and  then  1  was  deserted  to  die  among  strangers — 1 
and  his  child!  And  he  wooed  a  rich  and  beautiful  bride,  and 
1  was  forgotten,  as  others  had  been  forgotten  before.    But  you 

Eaid  the  penalty,  Gerald  Kosslyn — your  life  paid  for  my  broken 
eart.  His  life!  Bah!  could  a  whole  hecatomb  of  such  das- 
tardly lives  as  his  pay  for  a  ruined  home,  a  lost  soul,  a  despair- 
ing brain,  a  broken,  bleeding  heart?*' 

Her  face  darkened— darkened  with  such  passionate  scorn, 
such  demoniac  hate,  that  Mrs.  Squire  Ryder,  had  she  seen  her 
at  the  moment,  might  well  have  felt  herself  justified  in  order- 
ing her  out  of  the  house  there  and  then. 

'*  It  is  like  a  dream — the  rest,*'  she  thought,  leaning  her 
arms  across  a  bough  of  the  tree  and  dropping  her  forehead  on 
her  arm — "  the  flight,  the  falling  ill  in  that  miserable  tene- 
ment house,  the  hospital  where  I  awoke  from  my  long  fever, 
and  the  wretched,  wretched  life  1  have  dragged  on  since. 
Servant,  seamstress,  drudge — what  have  1  not  been?  i,  whose 
beauty  might  have  made  me  the  wife  of  a  millionaire.  And 
here  1  am  despised  and  distrusted  and  disliked — I  see  it  in 
that  odious  woman's  face  every  hour  of  the  day.  My  curse 
upon  Gerald  Rosslyn—my  curse  upon  him  dead  in  his  grave, 
for  all  the  life-long  misery  he  has  brought  upon  me!*' 

She  started  up,  striking  the  tree  passionately,  as  if  it  were 
the  dead  body  of  the  man  she  hated.  The  beautiful  face, 
with  the  glory  of  the  sunset  upon  it,  was  as  the  face  of  a 
demon. 

A  heavy  step  came  along  the  graveled  path,  a  man's  whistle 
came  cheerily  on  the  still  air.  Another  moment  and  Squire 
Ryder  entered  the  woodland  path,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  was  face  to  face  with  his  governess.  Miss  Stone  stood 
looking  at  the  gorgeous  western  sky  with  a  countenance  of  in- 
finite calm. 

**  All  alone.  Miss  Stone?"  the  squire  said,  cheerily;  **  doing 
the  sentimental,  and  seeing  the  sun  go  down?  Hot,  isn't  it? 
I'm  in  search  of  a  breath  of  air,  and  1  can't  find  it.  Don't 
disturb  yourself  on  my  account;  I'm  going  to  the  orchard  to 
smoke.  Here's  to-day's  '  Herald  ' — perhaps  you'd  like  to  read 
the  marriages  and  deaths." 

He  handed  her  the  paper  with  a  good-humored  nod,  re 
sumed  his  whistle,  and  ea'^tered  on. 


M 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWER 


t» 


i 


The  marriages  or  deaths,  or  any  other  items  the  '*  herald 
might  contain  wore  of  very  little  interest  to  the  moody  govern- 
ess. She  opened  the  paper  mechanically  and  glanced  over  it 
with  an  indilTerent  eye.  But  it  was  all  Hat  and  uninteresting, 
and  she  was  about  folding  it  up  wearily  when  something  caught 
her  eye  that  made  her  start  as  though  she  had  been  snot.  It 
was  a  paragraph  among  the  **  Personals/'  and  it  ran  thus: 

*'  One  Hundred  Dollars  Reward. — The  above  sum 
will  be  paid  to  any  person  giving  information  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Eleanor  Lauriston,  maiden  name  Eleanor  Lyon, 
nine  years  ago  a  resident  of  Brook tield,  Penn.  The  same  re- 
ward will  be  paid  to  any  person  giving  authentic  information 
of  her  death.  Address  William  Gilmer,  Barrister  at  Law, 
No.  —  Fulton  Street,  New  York." 

Miss  Stone,  the  rigid   governess,  read  this  advcrtisemen 
again  and  again  and  again.     Her  whole  face  lighted,  her  wan 
cheeks  flushed,  her  black  eyes  glowed;  she  looked  ten  years 
younger  in  one  instant. 

An  hour  passed.  The  crimson  splendor  of  the  sunset  had 
faded  from  the  sky,  the  evening  star  shone  tremulous,  a  faint 
new  moon  trembled  on  the  verge  of  an  opal  sky,  and  a  sighing 
breeze  stirred  the  drooping  leaves;  and  still  the  governess 
t3tood  spell-bound,  devouring  that  one  brief  paragraph  with 
glittering  eyes. 

The  heavy  step  and  the  whistle  of  the  squire  drew  near;  he 
had  Onished  his  smoke  and  was  going  in  to  tea.  Miss  Stone 
folded  the  paper,  resumed  her  icy  mask,  and  stepped  out  to 
meet  him. 

*'  Thanks  for  the  *  Herald,'  "  she  said;  "  you  keep  the  back 
numbers  on  file,  do  you  not.  Squire  Ryder?*' 

*'  Yes,  my  dear.     Would  you  like  to  look  over  them?" 

*'  If  you  please." 

It  was  rather  an  odd  fancy  for  a  young  lady,  but  Miss  Stone 
was  an  oddity  at  best.  After  tea  the  file  was  produced,  and 
the  governess  took  it  up  to  her  own  room.  Yes,  the  adver- 
tisement was  in  them — as  far  as  three  months  back,  but  differ- 
ently worded  in  the  first: 

*'  Eleanor  Lauriston — born  Eleanor  Lyon,  formerly  oi 
Brookfield,  Penn. — is  earnestly  requested  to  call  on  William 
Gilmer,  Solicitor,  No.  - —  Fulton  Street,  where  she  will  hear 
of  something  very  much  to  her  advantage." 

Miss  Stone  literally  devoured  these  paragraphs,  her  faoe 
BQ  changed  in  its  burning  e«gerness  that  Mrs.  Ryder  would 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    OOWER. 


Sl^ 


)• 


it 


h^Te  beoii  puzzled  to  know  her  murblo  govornoss.  She  sat 
cvbr  the  pajwrB  while  the  night  waned,  knowing  neither  eleep- 
lessneBs  nor  woariness,  her  eyes  burning  brightly. 

**  Can  I  do  it— can  1  do  it?"  she  said,  clanping  her  hands 
wildly.  "  We  were  so  much  alike,  and  nine  years  have  passwl, 
and  she  is  dead  and  in  her  grave.  Js  Fortune  tired  of  hunting 
me  down,  and  is  there  anything  good  in  store  for  me  at  last? 
I  will  try  it — 1  have  evervthing  to  gain,  nothing  to  lose,  and 
1  am  desperate  and  reckless.  If  I  fail,  the  river  is  open  to 
all,  and  i  will  end  this  miserable  mockery  of  life. " 

She  threw  herself  on  her  bed  in  a  fever  of  impatience. 
Morning  was  glimmering  in  the  east  already,  but  she  dropped 
asleep,  worn  out  with  her  long  vigil. 

Mrs.  Squire  Ryder,  at  breakfast  that  morning,  was  trans- 
fixed with  astonishment  and  delight  by  Miss  Stone's  announce- 
ment of  her  immediate  departure.  She  offered  no  explana- 
tion; family  matters,  she  said,  in  her  proud,  cold  way,  re- 
quired her  immediate  presence  in  New  York.  That  day  the 
noon  train  for  the  city  bore  oH,  among  its  passengers^  Miss 
Stone,  the  mysterious  governess. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MISS  stone's  journey. 

In  the  silvery  haze  of  the  August  twilight,  Mrs.  Ryder's 
governess  reached  the  city.  The  lamps  were  lighted  in  the 
noisy  streets,  and  the  early  stars  spangled  the  sky^  as  the  hack 
rattled  down  Broadway  and  into  Cortland t  Street  Before  a 
stately  hotel  the  carriage  stopped,  and  the  lady  alighted  and 
■wept  in.  She  had  but  one  small  trunk  and  a  valise,  and  her 
traveling-dress  was  of  the  plainest  and  cheapest  in  make  and 
material;  but  the  proud,  pale  face  and  black  eyes  told  a  story 
of  their  own  that  no  one  could  fail  to  understand.  She  paused 
a  moment  on  her  way  upstairs  to  register  her  name,  **  Mrs. 
Lauriston,  New  York  City,'^  in  flowing  Italian  chirography. 

It  was  too  late,  and  she  was  too  tired,  after  her  long  day's 
ride,  to  do  more  than  take  her  supper  and  retire.  She  locked 
the  door  of  her  room  and  sat  down  by  the  open  window,  list- 
ening to  the  noises  of  the  street,  watching  the  passers-by  and 
the  bright  stars  that  shone  over  the  throbbing  heart  of  the 
city. 

'*  The  first  step  has  been  taken,"  she  thought,  **  the  first 
step  on  a  dark  and  dangerous  journey.  Whither  will  it  lead 
mer  To  a  life  of  ^ase  and  wealth  and  luxury,  or  to  a  suicMt'a 
dreadful  death  in  yonder  dark  river?" 


96 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


The  noises  of  the  night  grew  hushed — the  beating  pulse  of 
life  in  the  great  city's  heart  grew  slow  and  faint — the  moon 
rose  round  and  full,  and  the  clock  in  St.  Paul's  Church  struck 
oloven.  Then,  shivering  in  the  warm  night  air,  Mrs.  Lauris- 
ton,  lato  Miss  Stone,  rose  from  the  window,  lighted  the  gas, 
and  drew  forth  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress  a  letter.  It  was 
a  woman's  pale  scrawl,  the  paper  was  yellow  and  limp  with 
time,  the  date  was  four  years  before.  She  opened  it  and  slowly 
read : 


(( 


n 


i' 


I 


!    i  ■; 


;      f 


My  Sister  Adelia, — I  write  this  on  what  may  be  my 
death-bod.  1  write  it,  not  knowing  that  it  may  ever  reach 
you.  1  write  it,  not  knowing  whether  you  will  comply  with 
the  last  request  1  shall  ever  make  on  earth.  But  in  the  wide 
world,  Adelia — the  big,  cruel,  pitiless  world — I  have  no  one 
left  to  turn  to,  no  one  in  whose  veins  my  own  blood  flows,  but 
you.  Oh!  listen  to  me,  my  sister!  By  the  memory  of  our 
happy  home,  of  our  dead  mother,  by  the  love  we  once  bore 
each  other,  listen  to  me  now  while  I  plead  for  my  child! 

"  Let  me  tell  you  my  story,  Adelia;  my  bliss  and  my  misery 
that  began  after  you  left  home,  after  your  flight  with  Gerald 
Rosslyn.  1  don't  reproach  you — the  time  for  that  has  long 
gone  by;  but  you  broke  our  father's  heart — he  sent  me  from 
home — he  cursed  you — he  made  me  swear  never  to  mention 
your  name,  and  I  was  banished  to  live  at  Brookfield  with  Aunt 
Henshaw. 

**  Six  months  after,  I  met  Launcelot  Lauriston.  Adelia,  I 
don't  think  you  ever  loved  Gerald  Rosslyn  half  so  dearly  as  I 
loved  him.  He  had  come  to  Brookfield  for  the  summer  fish- 
ing. He  boarded  with  aunt.  We  were  together  the  long, 
glorious  summer  days.  I  loved  him,  he  loved  me,  as  hot- 
headed sixteen  and  twenty  will  love.  "We  were  married 
privately.  Aunt  Henshaw  only  knew  of  it,  for  Launcelot's 
family  were  among  the  grandees  of  the  land,  and  his  mother, 
he  toid  me,  had  set  her  heart  on  his  marrying  an  English 
cousin — a  high-born  beauty  and  heiress. 

"  We  were  married,  and  he  wrote  to  his  mother  telling  her 
all.  Adelia,  his  letter  came  back  with  half  a  dozen  bitter 
lines  from  that  proud  and  merciless  mother.  She  disowned 
him — she  cast  him  oft  forever.  Let  him  beg  or  starve  with 
the  pauper  he  had  chosen  to  marry,  but  let  him  never  dare 
address  her  again. 

**  Aunt  Henshaw  was  too  poor  to  keep  us,  and  Launoelot 
was  too  prou^.  to  linger  there^  if  she  had  not  been.    He  burned 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    GLEN     GOWER, 


27 


Loelot 
lurned 


his  mother's  cruel  letter;  he  took  me  to  the  city;  and,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  tried  to  earn  his  own  bread. 

**  Adelia,  I  can  not  tell  you,  if  I  would,  all  the  suffering, 
the  poverty,  the  wretchedness  of  the  next  nine  months.  Two 
babes  could  hardly  have  been  more  helpless,  cast  upon  the 
world,  than  we.  Had  Launoelot  been  a  shoe-maker  or  a  hod- 
carrier,  he  might  have  earned  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body 
together;  being  the  pampered  son  of  a  haughty  house,  he  was 
fit  for  nothing.  We  were  literally  starving,  our  home  a  gar- 
ret, our  food  a  crust.  1  never  reproached  him.  I  thank  God 
for  it  now.  I  loved  him  with  a  love  no  starvation  could  over- 
come, no  misery  conquer.  But  he  reproached  himself — how 
bitterly  no  one  knew  but  God  and  his  own  heart;  and  at  last, 
in  a  fit  of  mad  desperation — oh,  Adelia!  Adelia  I  let  those 
blame  him  who  never  suffered — he  committed  a  robbery  and 
fled.  The  ill-gotten  gain,  to  the  last  farthing,  was  sent  to 
me.     He  shipped  in  a  whaler  and  fled  the  country. 

"  1  did  not  die — the  dreadful  blow  did  not  kill  me  outright 
— but  for  weeks  and  weeks  1  lay  ill  unto  death,  and  in  the 
midst  of  my  misery,  six  weeks  later,  my  boy  was  born — my 
boy  who  looked  up  at  me  with  his  lost  father's  eyes,  and  for 
whose  sake  1  lived  then,  and  have  dragged  on  life  since — for 
whose  sake  1  now  write  this  confession  to  you. 

"  I  am  dying.  I  am  in  the  hospital,  and  1  am  barely  able 
to  pen  these  lines.  They  have  taken  my  darling  away.  1 
wiii  never  see  him  again;  but  you  will,  Adelia.  For  your 
dead  sister's  sake  you  will  come  here  and  find  him,  and  take 
his  mother's  place.  1  have  never  heard  from  his  father  in  all 
those  four  long  years.  He  has  gone  before  me,  I  know,  and 
my  struggle  for  bread  has  been  hard  and  bitter.  1  inclose  my 
marriage  certificate  and  my  wedding-ring  and  my  husband's 
picture.  He  never  heard  of  you — he  never  knew  1  had  a  sis- 
ter; 1  kept  my  promise  to  my  d'^ad  father,  but  you  will  be- 
friend his  son  in  his  hour  of  need. 

"  1  can  write— no  more.  Come  at  once,  if  you  can.  A 
friend — a  poor  seamstress  in  whose  room  1  have  lived  the  past 
year— will  tell  you  the  story  of  my  bitter  battle  with  the  world 
"—will  assist  you  to  claim  my  boy.  Her  address  is  below. 
■\delia!  Adelia  I  for  pity's  sake,  listen  to  the  dying  prayer  A 

**  Your  sister, 

"Eleanor." 

The  letter  dropped  in  her  lap.     Her  face  had  not  altered 

^nce  in  its  changeless  calm  while  she  read.     She  drew  forth  a 

second  folded  paper  and  opened  it.     An  ambrotype,  a  plain 


2S 


THE    HEIBE8S    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


i 


.  y 


ii 


gold  ring,  and  the  marriage  certificate  of  **  Launcelot  Lauris- 
ton  "  and  **  Eleanor  Lyon  "  dropped  out.  Inside  the  ring 
the  initials  '*  G.  L.  V."  were  curiously  wrought.  The  solitary 
watcher  looked  at  them  long  and  anxiously. 

"  What  can  they  mean?'*  she  thought.  **  Those  letters 
stand  for  neither  his  name  nor  hers.  Can  it  be  that  Launcelot 
Lauiiston  was  an  assumed  name^  after  all,  and  that  Eleanor 
never  knew  the  real  one?" 

She  opened  the  ambrotype.  The  handsome,  youthful  face, 
smooth  as  a  girl's,  radiant  as  the  sunshine,  smiled  frankly  up 
at  her,  open  and  cheery — the  brightest  of  bright,  boyish  faces. 

"  Will  I  know  him  again?"  she  thought  "  Eight  years 
have  passed—more  than  eight  years — since  this  picture  was 
taken.  The  boy  of  twenty  and  the  man  of  twenty-nine, 
bronzed  and  bearded  and  brown,  will  look  little  alike.  He 
may  be  dead — he  must  be  dead,  or,  loving  Eleanor  as  she 
says  he  loved  her,  he  would  have  written  to  her  ere  the  four 
years  were  expired.  And  yet  he  may  be  alive  and  be  the  anx- 
ious inquirer  who  is  seeking  her  through  the  columns  of  the 
*  Herald.  ^  Or  it  may  be  th3*t  haughty  mother,  repentant  and 
remorseful  at  last" 

The  City  Hall  clock  struck  twelve.  The  woman  rose  and 
held  the  letter  to  the  gas  until  it  fell  in  black  ashes  on  the 
carpet.  The  ring,  the  picture,  and  the  marriage  certificate 
she  refolded  carefully  ana  concealed  in  her  bosom;  and  then, 
worn  out  with  her  long  journey  and  her  long  vigil,  she  retired 
to  bed.  Immediately  after  breakfast  next  morning  Mrs. 
Lauriston  left  the  hotel,  and  made  her  way  through  an  inter- 
minable maze  of  streets  to  one  of  the  poorest  and  dirtiest 
localities  of  the  east  side.  Selecting  the  shabbiest  of  the 
shabby  tenement  houses,  she  ascended  the  rickety  stairs  and 
inquired  for  Susan  Brooks. 

Susan  Brooks  was  there  and  easily  found.  She  came  out 
on  the  landing — a  haggard,  wretched-looking  woman — and 
asked  the  lady  in  black  up  to  her  room.  As  the  lady  threw 
back  her  veil,  Susan  Brooks  recoiled  with  a  frightened  cry. 

'*  Good  Heaven!"  she  said,  "it  is  the  dead  alive!  It  Is 
Mrs.  Lauriston — out  of  her  grave!" 

**  I  am  Mrs.  Lauriston's  sister.  You  have  heard  her  speak 
of  me,  I  dare  say. " 

"  Often  and  often,  poor  soul!  1  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am, 
but  you're  so  like  her  that  I  declare  you  gave  me  a  turn.  It's 
like  seeing  her  ghost!" 

**  My  sister  is  dead,  then?" 

"Long  and  long  ago.     Died  in  Bellevue  Hospital,  poor 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


29 


creature!  I  wasn't  in  the  city  at  the  time,  but  I  saw  her  a 
few  days  before,  and  if  ever  death  was  written  on  a  face,  it  was 
written  plainly  on  hers." 

"  She  died  during  your  absence,  then?  Have  you  any  proof 
of  her  death?" 

**  Proof?"  said  the  woman,  with  a  stare.  **  I  didn't  need 
any  proof.  She  was  dying  when  I  sav/  her,  and  she  knew  it. 
I  don't  know  how  many  days  she  lived  after,  but  it  couldn't 
be  many.  I  was  out  of  town  in  service  at  the  time.  She's 
dead,  poor  creature,  and  buried,  safe  enough;  and  a  happy 
release  it  was!*' 

"  And  the  child— the  boy?" 

Susan  Brooks  shook  her  head. 

**  Little  Launce?  I  don't  know  what  became  of  him.  It 
was  nearly  a  year  after  when  I  came  back  to  New  York,  and 
I  went  to  the  orphan  asylum  where  he  had  been  placed  to  in- 
quire. But  he  had  been  took  away  long  before.  They 
couldn't  tell  me  where,  and  they  couldn't  tell  me  who  took 
him;  but  he'd  been  took.  'Dopted,  I  suppose,  by  some  ona 
Such  a  pretty  boy  as  he  was — the  very  image  of  his  father!" 

'*  Did  you  ever  see  his  father?" 

**  No;  but  I  saw  his  picture.  Ah!  what  store  poor  Mrs, 
Lauriston  set  by  that  picture  and  her  wedding-ring!  She  was 
starving  many  and  many  a  time,  but  she  would  have  died 
dead  before  she  would  part  with  them!" 

"  Miss  Brooks,"  said  the  lady,  **  I  have  reason  to  suspect 
that  Launcelot  Lauriston  was  not  that  man's  real  name.  Do 
you  know  if  my  sister  suspected  it,  too?" 

**  She  did,"  said  Miss  Brooks,  decidedly.  *'  She  knew  it 
wasn't.  He  told  her  so  before  he  left;  but  he  never  told  her 
what  his  red.  name  was.  His  family  had  cast  him  off,  he  said, 
and  he  would  never  claim  anything  of  theirs — not  even  their 


name. 


And  this  is  all  the  information  you  have  to  give,"  said  the 
lady,  rising.  '  *  I  am  sorry  I  can  not  find  my  sister's  child.  I 
will  leave  you  an  address,  and  if  you  ever  hear  anything  of 
him,  you  will  let  me  know.  Here  it  is.  Excuse  me  for 
troubling  you,  and  allow  me  to  wish  you  good-day." 

She  slipped  a  coin  into  the  paper  on  which  the  address  was 
written,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  A  moment  later  and  she 
was  gone.     Susan  Brooks  looked  after  her  with  staring  eyes. 

"It's  like  seeing  a  ghost,"  she  repeated—" like  poor 
Eleanor  Lauriston  out  of  the  grave.  I  never  saw  sisters  so 
much  alike. " 

The  lady  in  black  took  an  omnibus  and  rode  down  to  Fulton 


30 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    60WE1U 


'I 


111 


Street.  She  made  her  way  straight  to  the  oflBce  of  Mr.  Gil- 
mer, ascended  a  loug,  dingy  staircase,  and  entered  an  office, 
where  two  young  men  on  high  stools  sat  writing. 

**  This  is  Mr.  Gilmer's  oflice?" 

"Yes,  madame.'' 

**  Is  Mr.  Gilmer  in?" 

The  clerk  got  off  his  stool  and  tapped  at  the  door  of  an 
inner  room. 

'*  Lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said  to  some  one  inside. 

"  Tell  the  lady  to  come  in." 

Mrs.  Lauriston  crossed  the  office  and  entered  the  inner 
sanctum.  A  little  bald-headed  man  looked  up  from  the  desk 
at  which  he  was  writing. 

**  You  have  business  with  me,  madame?" 

**  1  have,  sir.  You  are  the  William  Gilmer,  1  presume, 
who  inserted  this  advertisement?" 

She  laid  the  "  Herald  "  before  him,  pointing  to  that  special 
paragraph  among  the  "  Personals." 

"  Bless  my  soul!"  cried  Mr.  Gilmer,  **  light  at  last!     I  be- 

fan  to  think  we  were  hunting  last  year's  partridges.     You 
ring  news  of  Eleanor  Lauriston?" 
**  1  do;  I  am  Eleanor  Lauriston." 

She  threw  back  her  veil  as  she  spoke,  and  the  pale,  resolute 
face — very  pale  just  now — and  the  dauntless  black  eyes  shone 
full  upon  him.     The  lawyer  leaped  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

**  God  bless  me!  Can  it  be  possible?  You  are  Eleanor 
Lauriston?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  why  the — I  beg  your  pardon,  madame — but  why 
did  you  not  answer  the  advertisement  before?  Why,  we've 
been  hunting  for  you  for  the  past  three  months." 

**  I  know  it;  but  1  am  a  very  poor  woman,  Mr.  Gilmer — 
obliged  to  work  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night  for  the 
bread  I  eat.  I  have  had  no  time  for  reading  newspapers  and 
no  money  to  spare  to  buy  them.  It  was  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent I  saw  your  advertisement  yesterday  in  a  borrowed 
*  Herald.'" 

"  And  you  have  been  in  New  York  all  this  time,  while  we 
have  been  searching  for  you  high  and  low?" 

"  I  have  not  left  New  Y'^ork  since  my  husband  deserted  me 
—deserted  me  and  my  child,  tc  die  of  misery  and  starvation. 
I  don't  blame  him,  Mr.  Gilmer;  but  my  life  has  been  ^  very, 
very  bitter  one.  Tell  me  if  he  is  alive  or  dead — tell  me  if  it 
TB  he  who  is  searching  for  me  now?" 


rHE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


31 


'*  It  is  not  He  has  never  been  heard  of  since  he  fled  from 
the  city,  I  am  sorry  to  say. " 

**  Then  it  is  his  mother." 

**  My  dear  madame,"  the  lawyer  said,  in  the  last  degree 
surprised,  "  how  do  you  know  that?" 

*'  Because  there  is  no  one  else  in  the  wide  world  interested 
in  finding  Eleanor  Lyon — or  Lauriston,  if  I  really  have  any 
right  to  that  name. " 

**  You  know  that,  too!  You  know  Launcelot  Lauriston 
was  an  assumed  name!  Then  perhaps  you  know  the  real  one, 
also?" 

**  No,  Mr.  Gilmer,  I  do  not.  Before  he  left  me  my  hus- 
band told  me  that  he  had  married  me  under  an  assumed  name. 
His  family  cast  him  off  for  that  low  marriage,  and  from 
thenceforth  he  would  claim  nothing  of  theirs — not  even  their 


it 


name. 

**  Like  him!"  muttered  the  lawyer — **  like  him!  Always  a 
proud,  headstrong,  obstinate  boy!  You  are  quite  right, 
madame,"  aloud.  "  The  name  was  assumed;  and  it  is  his 
mother — a  lonely,  childless  old  woman — sorry  for  the  past, 
and  most  anxious  to  take  to  her  home  and  heart  her  lost  son's 
wifa  But  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  have  kept  you  standing  all 
this  time.  Will  you  be  seated,  and  tell  me  what  proofs  you 
have  that  you  are  the  person  you  claim  to  be?  It  is  a  neces- 
sary form — only  a  form  in  this  case,  for  1  have  seen  your  por- 
trait, and  your  face  is  not  one  to  be  mistaken." 

Mrs.  Lauriston  turned  very  pale. 

**  You  have  seen  my  portrait?"  she  slowly  repeated. 

"  Yes,  madame;  1  have  it  here  in  my  desk  at  this  presenl^ 
moment  When  your  husband  wrote  to  his  mother  that  first 
and  last  letter  he  inclosed  the  portrait  of  his  bride.  Nine 
years  have  changed  you;  but,  as  1  said  before,  yours  ia  not  a 
face  to  be  mistaken." 

Mrs.  fefturiston  silently  drew  forth  a  packet  and  laid  it  be- 
fore him. 

**  It  contains  my  husband's  picture,"  she  said;  **  he  gave  it 
to  me  when  we  were  first  married.  It  contains  my  wedding- 
ring,  with  the  initials  *  G.  L.  V. ' — the  initials  of  his  real 
name,  as  you  doubtless  know — inside,  and  it  contains  my  mar- 
riage certificate.  I  have  no  other  proofs  to  offer,  Mr.  Gilmer, 
save  the  history  of  the  sorrowful  past." 

**  No  more  is  needed,  my  dear  madame."  He  took  up  the 
articles  one  by  one  and  carefully  examined  them.  **  I  never 
doubted  from  the  first  that  you  were  the  person  you  claimed 


89 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


f   k 


to  bb.  And  your  child— you  spoke  of  a  child,  1  think,  born 
after  its  father's  flight?" 

'*  Born  two  months  after.*' 

"  Girl  or  boy?" 

A  faint  flush  came  momentarily  into  each  pale  cheek,  but 
the  bold  black  eyes  never  quailed. 

•*  Girl,"  she  said,  resolutely. 

**  Ah!  that's  a  pity.  A  boy  to  inherit  and  perpetuate  th« 
family  glory  and  the  family  name  would  have  suited  the  old 
madame's  ambition  so  much  better.  But  1  suppose  she  must 
rest  contented  with  an  heiress  instead  of  an  heir.  Your  little 
girl  is,  then,  eight  years  old?" 

**  Past  eight— in  her  ninth  year." 

**  Here,  in  New  York,  no  doubt?" 

'*  No,  Mr.  Gilmer;  in  the  country.  1  could  not  take  care 
of  her  and  work  for  her  in  the  city.  I  sent  her  to  the  country 
for  the  double  sake  of  health  and  economy. " 

"  And  how  long  will  it  take  you  to  send  for  her?  You  see, 
my  dear  lady,  the  old  madame  is  in  a  fever  of  impatience  to 
find  you.  1  must  telegraph  to  her  at  once,  and  she  will  insist 
on  your  immediately  going  to  Maryland." 

"  To  Maryland?" 

**  To  Maryland — to  Glen  Gower.  Permit  me  to  congratu- 
late ycV!,  madame,  on  being  the  daughter-in-law  of  Madame 
Varneck,  of  Glen  Gower,  the  richest  and  proudest  old  lady  in 
the  State. " 

She  laid  her  hand  in  his,  that  faint  red  glow  rising  in  her 
cheeks  again, 

"  Madame  Varneck!    Then  my  name  is — " 

**  Mrs.  Gilbert  Lauristou  Varneck.  Exactly,  madame.  A 
proud  old  English  name — and  the  Varnecks  of  Glen  Gower 
came  over  with  Lord  Calvert.  The  Earl  of  Strathmore  is 
Madame  Varneck 's  second  cousin — a  fine  old  family,  you  see, 
in  whom  a  little  pride  of  birth  and  blood  is  natural  and  excus- 
able. And  now,  that  is  all,  1  think.  I  will  dispatch  the  wel- 
come news  to  madame  at  once,  and  you  will  send  for  your 
little  daughter,  and  prepare  to  depart  at  once  for  your  future 
home.     By  the  bye,  does  little  missy  look  like  papa?" 

The  lady  had  risen  to  depart,  and  she  dropped  ner  veil  sud- 
denly at  this  question. 

*'  No,"  she  said,  coldly,  turning  away,  **  my  little  girl  does 
not  resemble  her  father." 

'*  More's  the  pity!  Well,  Mrs.  Varneck — we  may  drop  the 
Lauriston  now;  it  was  old  madame's  maiden  name — how  book 
will  you  be  back  from  the  couutr}  ?' 


THS    HEIRESS    OF  GLEN    OOWEB. 


33 


«• 


In  two  days— three  at  farthest" 

'*  And  where  will  1  find  you^  to  communicate  madame'i 
orders?" 

*'  1  will  call  here.    Until  then,  Mr.  Gilmer,  farewell." 

She  bowed  with  the  stately  grace  peculiar  to  her  and  flitted 
away.     The  old  lawyer  looked  after  her  through  his  spectacles. 

**  A  handsome  woman  and  a  resolute  woman,"  he  said, 
**  but  very  little  like  the  gentle  angel  poor  Gilbert  Varneok 
described  m  that  first  rapturous  letter.  The  world  has  hard- 
ened her,  no  doubt — and  all  the  better  for  her.  She  looki 
now  as  if  she  might  hold  her  own  against  all  the  Varnecks  and 
Lauristons  alivel  Our  haughty  m^ame  will  find  her  match 
at  last  in  her  handsome  daughter-in-law  I^' 


r>* 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"LITTLE    DORA." 

Ik  the  amber  radiance  of  the  sunny  A  ugust  afternoon  the 
stage-coach  drew  up  before  a  solitary  farm-house  in  the  heart 
of  a  New  Jersey  wood.  Ten  years  had  wrought  little  change 
here;  the  house  was  altered  from  a  log  cabin  to  a  commodious 
frame  building,  the  farm  was  enlarged  and  improved,  but  the 
lonely  road  was  as  lonely  this  blazmg  August  afternoon  as  it 
had  been  that  stormy  September  night  ten  long  years  before. 

The  stage-coach  stopped  and  a  lady  alight^ — a  tall  ladj, 
dressed  in  black,  and  closely  veiled.  A  young  woman,  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  came  out  to  the  gate  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  Mrs.  Larkins  lives  here?"  the  veiled  lady  asked. 

**  Yes,  ma'am;  I'm  Mrs.  Larkins." 

**  You?  Oh,  no  I  I  mean  you  are  not  the  Mrs.  Larkins  I 
want.     She  must  be  quite  an  old  woman  now." 

"  You  mean  mother-in-law,  I  reckon,"  said  the  young 
woman,  composedly.     **  She's  dead." 

"Dead?" 

"  Dead  these  four  year  and  more.  Did  you  use  to  know 
her?" 

**  1  knew  her  ten  years  ago.  She  was  very  kind  to  me  in  a 
long  illness  I  had  here.    And  she  is  dead?" 

"  I  bet  you're  the  young  lady  I've  heerd  on  I"  cried  Mrs. 
Larkins  the  second,  with  sudden  animation.  "  Bob's  told  me 
about  you  time  and  time  again.  The  young  lady  that  was 
Dpset  from  the  stage-coach  one  awful  stormy  night,  and  that 
was  took  here,  and  had  a  baby?    Hey?" 

2 


84 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


j,  t 


:M 


m 


t  tl 


"  Not  that  I  knows  on. 
1  only  mean  she  ain't  here. 


**  Yes— yeo,  I  am  the  same.  It  is  about  that  child  1  have 
come.     Is  she  here?" 

The  young  woman  shook  her  head. 

**  1  never  seen  her.  I  donH  know  nothin'  about  her.  She 
hain't  been  hero  for  years  and  years  and  years." 

The  veiled  lady  grasped  the  wooden  railing  for  support. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  she  cried,  in  a  frightenea  voice — "  don*^ 
teU  me  my  child  is  dead  I*' 

I  dessay  she's  alive — safe  enough. 
Granny  Croak  took  her." 

"  Who?" 

''  Granny  Croak — an  old  woman  that  goes  out  nursing,  and 
takes  care  of  children  and  such.  She  lives  down  to  Lymoford. 
She's  got  your  little  gal." 

"  Thank  Heaven!  Thank  Heaven,  the  child  is  alive!  But 
how  came  this  old  woman  to  have  her?  Did  Mrs.  Larkins 
give  her  up?" 

**  Well,  you  see,"  said  the  second  Mrs.  Larkins,  **you  run 
away  one  night,  so  Bob  says,  and  they  never  heard  tale  or  tid- 
ings of  you  after.  Mother-in-law  had  enough  to  do,  what 
with  the  farm  and  all,  without  a  baby  on  her  hands.  So  she 
sent  for  Granny  Croak,  and  she  says  to  Granny:  'Here's  a 
babv,  three  months  old,  and  here's  sixty  dollars,  what's  left 
of  a  hundred  its  pa  sent  Its  ma's  run  away,  and  it  most  go 
to  the  poor-house  if  you  don't  take  it.  It's  a  pity  to  send  it 
there,  for  it's  a  pretty  baby,  and  a  good  baby,*  says  mother- 
in-law,  *  and  if  you  say  the  word,  granny,  the  sixty  dollars  is 
yours.  And  th3  baby,  she'll  be  a  help  to  you,'  says  mother- 
m-law,  *  afore  you  know  where  you  are.*  Well,  ma'am. 
Granny  Croak  loves  money  if  ever  any  one  loved  money  yet. 
She  grabbed  the  sixty  dollars  and  she  took  the  child.  We 
ain't  never  seen  it  since.  Lymeford  is  a  good  piece  off,  and 
we  ain't  no  time  for  gadding  'round.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to 
go  to  Lymeford  and  find  Granny  Croak,  and  make  her  give 
you  the  child." 

**  Thank  you.    Will  you  give  me  Mrs.  Croak's  address?" 
**  I  can  do  better  than  that  if  you'll  wait  a  minute.     Bob — 
Bob's  my  husband,  madame — he's  going  to  Lymeford.     He's 
getting  ready  now,  and  he'll  take  you  to  the  very  door." 

As  she  spoke  Bob  himself  appeared,  driving  the  rudest  of 
country  wagons,  loaded  with  gre«a  stuff  for  the  Lymeford 
market. 

*'  If  you  don't  mind  riding  along  with  the  garden  sass  in 
the  wagon,  ma'am.  Bob  will  take  you,  and  welcome. " 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN"    GOWER. 


96 


hare 


She 


•• 


I  don't  in  the  least  mind,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  Mrs.  Larkins. " 

Sho  slipped  a  silver  dollar  into  the  fat  hand  of  the  baby, 
and  was  assisted  by  Mr.  Bob  Larkina  to  a  seat  beside  hiui,  m 
a  verdant  bower  of  **  garden  sass.  *' 

The  August  sun  was  going  down  in  an  oriflammo  of  inde- 
scribable splendor  as  the  primitive  wagon  drew  up  before  the 
humble  abode  of  Granny  Croak.  One  dingy  room,  in  a  dingy 
tenement  house,  dirty  and  stufify  to  the  last  degree,  held  the 
Lares  and  Penates  of  Mrs.  Croak;  and  Mrs.  Croak  herself,  ai 
grimy  as  the  room,  sat  on  a  stool  in  the  chimney-corner  smok- 
mg  a  pipe. 

The  lady  did  not  remove  her  veil  as  she  entered  and  seated 
herself  on  one  of  the  few  rickety  chairs. 

**  You  are  Mrs.  Croak?" 

The  old  woman  nodded  without  moving  her  pipe. 

'*  Granny  Croak.  I  goes  out  nussing.  Do  you  want  a 
nuss?" 

**  No;  1  want  a  child — a  child  left  in  your  care  ten  years 
ago  by  Mrs.  Larkins." 

The  old  woman's  pipe  dropped  out  of  her  mouth  and  fell, 
shivered  to  atoms,  on  the  hearth.  She  sat  staring  at  her  visit- 
or in  speechless  amazement. 

**  1  want  that  child,*'  the  lady  repeated.  "1  am  her 
mother!" 

'*  Good  Lord  a-massy!"  cried  Granny  Croak,  under  her 
breath,  "  who'd  'a'  thought  it?" 

*'  I'll  pay  you  well,"  the  lady  went  on,  "  for  your  care  of 
her  in  the  past — pay  you  beyond  your  utmost  expectations. 
Where  is  the  child?" 

But  the  old  woman  did  not  speak — could  not  speak.  She 
sat  staring  at  the  lady  with  a  blank  stare  of  abject  terror. 

**  Where  is  she?"  impatiently  repeated  the  veiled  lady. 
**  Why  do  you  sit  there  with  that  friglitened  face?  I  tell  you 
you  shall  be  well  paid  for  all  your  care  and  trouble.  Good 
HeavenI"  a3  a  sudden  thought  struck  her,  "  she  is  not  ill — 
she  is  not  dead?" 

**  Not  dead!"  repeated  Gianny  Croak,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
**0h.  Lor',  no!  she's  not  dead!  Oh,  good  gracious!  To 
think  of  you  coming  for  her  after  all  these  years!" 

The  lady  drew  out  her  purse  and  produced  a  shining  cluster 
of  bright  gold  dollars. 

"  Look  here.  I  will  give  you  all  these  to-day,  and  when  I 
go  CO  New  York  1  will  send  you  ten  times  as  much.  Onl^ 
sliow  me  my  child." 


86 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


i 


The  old  eyea  of  Granny  Croak,  bleared  and  dim,  lighted  up 
like  the  eyea  of  a  young  girl  at  the  golden  vision. 

**  All  them  bright  gold  dollars,  and  ton  times  as  much  more! 
Yes,  yes,  yes,  yesT  my  pretty  lady,  you  shall  have  your  child!" 
She  started  up  as  she  spoke,  trembling  with  eagerness,  and 
drew  near.  But  you  won't  know  her.  Mind,  I  warn  you 
— ^you  won't  know  your  little  drl.  I'm  a  very  poor  old 
woman,  and  she's  had  to  work.  You  haven't  seen  her  since 
she  was  two  months  old,  have  you,  my  pretty  lady?" 

*'  No,"  said  the  lady,  recoiling  from  the  trembling  eager- 
ness of  the  old  woman. 

**  No — I  knew  you  didn't,"  rubbing  her  skinny  hands  in 
delight,  *'  and  you  won't  know  her.  Ten  years  is  a  long  time 
— a  very  long  time,  my  deary — and  little  girls  change.  But 
she's  safe  and  well,  and  your  own  little  daughter— I  took  good 
care  of  that  Wait  a  minute,  my  pretty  lady,  and  I'll  call 
her;  she's  only  down-stairs. " 

She  wen*^  out  on  the  landing  and  leaned  over. 

*'  Dora!"  she  called,  in  a  shrill  voice — '*  Dora!" 

**  Coming,  granny!"  a  child's  voice  answered.  "  What  do 
you  want?" 

**  1  want  you,  my  deary.     Come  upstairs." 

A  light  step  came  springing  fleetly  up,  and  a  bright  little 
elf,  with  a  dirty  face,  a  ragged  dress,  unkempt  hair  and  bare 
feet,  bounded  in.  Two  big  bright  eyes  fixed  themselves 
straight  on  the  veiled  lady  in  a  wide,  wondering  stare. 

'*  This  is  the  little  girl,  my  pretty  lady.     This  is  Dora." 

Granny  Croak  shut  the  door  and  stood  close  to  her  visitor, 
her  glistening  eyes  fixed  greedily  on  the  gold  coins.  The  lady 
put  out  her  gloved  hand,  drew  the  child  near,  and  gazed  long 
and  earnestly  in  her  face  through  her  lowered  veil. 

It  was  a  pretty  face — undeniably  a  pretty  face,  despite  dirt 
and  sunburn-— with  regular  features,  dark-gray  eyes,  brown 
curly  hair,  rosy  cheeks,  and  a  gypsy  skin.  But  not  one  look 
of  her  own  statuesque  beauty,  not  one  look  of  handsome 
Gerald  Rosslyn  in  all  its  bright  prettiness.  A  cold  chill  of 
nameless  fear  fell  on  her  heart 

'*  Woman,"  she  said,  facing  suddenly  round,  "  is  this  my 
child?  Better  for  you  you  were  dead  and  in  your  grave  than 
dare  deceive  xne!" 

Granny  Croak  recoiled,  with  uplifted  hands  of  fear. 

**  1  ain't  deceiving  yon.  It's  the  very  child  Mrs.  Larkins 
cave  me  ten  years  ago.  If  you  don't  iJelieve  me,  go  away. 
I'm  fond  of  Dora>  and  Dora's  fond  of  me,  and  we'll  never 
part" 


THE    '"EIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


a/ 


**  Who  named  her  Dorai"*  - 

**  I  did.  1  had  a  little  girl  of  my  own  once  of  that  name, 
and  she  died.  Mrs.  Larkins  called  her  a  queer  name — Mal- 
detta,  1  think — but  I  didnU  like  that,  and  1  changed  it.  If 
you  don't  believe  me  you  can  leave  her.  1  don't  want  to  part 
with  Dora." 

**  J.  must  believe  you,  and  I  will  take  her.  "Wash  her  face, 
and  dress  her  in  the  best  you  have  got,  and  make  haste.  1 
want  to  leave  Lymeford  to-night." 

The  old  woman  obeyed ;  she  drew  Dora  into  an  inner  room, 
and  presently  emerged  with  the  child  washed  and  dressed  in 
her  Sunday  best.  And,  strange  to  say,  old  Granny  Croak  was 
crying. 

**  1  m  fond  of  Dora,  and  Dora's  fond  of  me,  and  it's  very 
hard  to  part  Oh,  deary  me!  I  never  thought  1  would  have 
to  give  up  Dora. " 

**  Let  these  console  you,"  said  the  veiled  lady,  pouring  the 
golden  shower  into  the  horny  old  palm.     **  Come! 

She  rose,  took  the  child  s  hand,  and  drew  her  out  of  the 
room.  She  had  not  given  her  one  kiss,  one  caress;  no  spark 
of  motherly  love  had  lighted  up  in  her  cold  heart.  Little 
Dora,  with  wide,  wondering  eyes,  submitted,  *'  passive  to  all 
changes,"  let  herself  be  led  to  the  carriage  and  driven  away. 
They  were  in  time  for  the  train,  and  ere  the  blaze  of  the  sun- 
set had  faded  out  of  the  sky  Lvmeford  lay  far  behind  them. 

That  night,  as  the  midnight  hour  struck,  little  Dora  lay 
asleep  on  the  most  luxurious  bed  wherein  she  had  ever  re- 
posed. And  with  a  shaded  night-lamp  in  her  hand,  Dora's 
mother  stood  bending  over  her,  gazing  earnestly  on  that  child- 
ish face.  The  rounded  cheeks  were  flushed,  the  bright  brown 
curls  were  tossed  over  the  pillow,  the  thick  lashes  veiled  the 
radiance  of  those  bright,  gray  eyes. 

Long  and  earnestly  the  mother  looked,  but  no  sign  of 
motherly  love  softened  the  cold  beauty  of  that  pale,  fixed  gaze. 

**  A  pretty  face,"  she  said;  "  but  no  look  of  her  father,  no 
look  of  her  mother.  They  are  a  fair  Saxon  race,  the  Var- 
necks.  Will  she  look  like  them?  Is  she  my  child,  I  wonder 
— my  very  child — or  did  that  old  hag  deceive  me  for  the 
money?  I  shall  never  know,  I  suppose,  nor  does  it  much 
matter.  I  have  little  reason  to  love  Gerald  Rosslyn's  child. 
She  is  only  a  stepping-stone  on  my  way  to  fortune — the  heiress 
of  boundless  wealth.  Sleep,  little  girl,  and  your  childish 
dreams  should  be  bright,  for  let  your  father  and  mother  be 
whom  they  may,  you  are  the  heiress  of  the  wealthy  Varneoka 
— the  heiress  of  Glen  Gowerl" 


i 


4 

I 


TUB    HEIRESS    OF    OLEK    OOWBB. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

GLEN   GOWER. 

•*  A  BLEAK  and  dismal  day— ominous  and  overcast — and  a 
black,  bad  night.  And,  oh  I  how  the  slow,  slow  hours  drag 
on  I  Only  half  past  seven,  and  they  can  not  be  here  before 
nine!     Was  ever  a  dny  so  long  as  this?'* 

She  was  quite  alone — the  stately  and  handsome  old  lady  who 
made  this  impatient  complaint — walking  up  and  down  the 
Jong  drawing-room,  a  spacious  and  lofty  room,  with  a  carpet 
of  velvet  pile,  in  whose  yielding  roses  and  lilies  the  feet  sunk. 
Massive  carved  chairs  and  sofas,  dark,  rich  paperings,  heavy 
flilken  hangings,  and  priceless  pictures  in  magnificent  frames, 
made  the  room  sumptuous  with  glowing  colors.  A  grand 
piano  stood  in  a  recess;  white  marble  statuettes,  on  black  mar- 
Die  brackets,  gleamed  every whero;  flowers  in  slender  Parian 
vases  perfumed  the  air;  alabaster  lamps  shed  a  soft,  shim- 
mering light  over  all,  and  a  wood  fire  crackled  cheerily  on  the 
marble  hearth.  For  the  August  night  was  raw  and  rainy; 
the  wind  howled  up  from  the  bay  in  lonr .  lamentable  blasts, 
and  the  rain  beat  clamorously  outside  those  purple  silken  win- 
dow-curtains. A  wild,  wet  night,  dark  as  Erebus,  and  with  a 
chill  breath  of  winter  in  the  howling  sea-wind. 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down,  the  old  lady  walked,  her  black 
satin  gown  rustling  softly,  and  a  diamond  star,  fastening  a 
point-lace  kerchief  on  her  bosom,  blazing  like  a  sun  in  the 
mellow  lamp-light.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down,  in  a  fever 
of  impatience,  glancing  every  other  moment  at  her  watch,  or 
at  the  buhl  clock  ticking  on  the  marble  mantel.  Sometimes 
8he  sunk  for  a  moment  into  the  violet  velvet  depths  of  a  gilded 
fauteuil,  but  only  for  a  moment  The  feverish  impatience , 
within  her  would  nowhere  let  her  rest.  As  some  wilder  blast  • 
would  dash  the  rain  frantically  against  the  glass,  as  the  long 
sullen  roar  of  the  angry  waves  on  the  bi^ach  below,  as  the 
surging  rush  of  the  tossing  trees  awoke  the  deafening  diapason 
of  the  tempest,  she  would  start  up  again  and  resume  that  rest- 
less march. 

Time  and  trouble  had  dealt  very  gently  with  Madame  Var- 
neck  of  Glen  Gower,  the  proudest  old  lady  in  wide  America. 
Her  sixty  years  had  silvered  her  once  golden  hair,  had  planted 
crows' -feet  under  the  proud  blue  eyes  and  deepened  the  linef 
around  the  trim,  patrician  mouth.  But  those  sixty  years  had 
ief  t  her  stately  and  upright  and  handsome  still,  and  not  all  the 


THE    nEIRESO    oP    GLKST    OOWER. 


89 


teftrs  those  clear  bine  eyes  had  shed  for  her  lost  son  had 
dimmod  their  eaglo  brightneHs. 

**  Is  it  ominous,  1  wonder?'*  she  thought.  **  Superstitioue 
people  might  think  so.  She  comes  to  me,  to  her  future 
nome — my  discarded  son's  wife — heralded  by  darkness  and 
temi)est,  wind  and  rain.  But  1  am  not  superstitious,  and  1 
•hall  lovo  my  son's  wife  and  child  for  mv  lost  sou's  sake.  Gil- 
bert—Gilbert, my  son!  where  in  all  the  wide  world  are  you 
this  dreary  August  night?" 

She  stood  before  the  tire,  with  clasped  hands  and  pahmion- 
ately  yearning  eyes.  Above  that  marble  mantel  hung  an  oval 
portrait — the  portrait  of  a  blue-oyed,  faired -haired,  handsome 
lad  in  a  Highland  dress,  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  his  dog  at 
his  heels — Gilbert  Lauriston  Varneck  at  sixteen. 

**My  bright-haired,  true-hearted,  handsome  boy!"  the 
mother  passionately  cried;  '*and  to  think  thut  I,  your  own 
mother,  should  bo  the  first  to  cast  you  adrift  in  the  wide,  piti- 
less world,  because  you  married  the  girl  you  loved  I  My  boy — 
my  boy!  my  repentance  and  atonement  come  too  late;  but. 
Heaven  helping  me,  I  will  be  a  true  mother  to  the  wife  you 
loved.  The  pride  of  the  *  bitter,  bad '  Varnecks  will  never 
stand  between  me  and  my  love  for  you  again!" 

Her  forehead  dropped  on  the  cold  marble;  the  proud  old 
eyes  filled  with  tears — big  tears  that  gathered  and  fell  slowly. 
Ah!  she  had  loved  him  so  dearly,  so  deeply.  She  had  been 
so  proud  of  her  princely  son;  and  her  own  cruel  decree  had. 
driven  him  forth — a  wanderer  and  an  outcast  forever. 

The  buhl  clock  softly  chimed  the  hour;  the  embers  fell 
through  the  shining  grate.  Outside  the  rain  beat,  and  the 
wind  blew,  and  the  awful  voice  of  the  angry  sea  sounded  high 
over  all.  A  terrible  night  for  a  journey — a  terrible  night  for 
Gilbert  Varneck's  wife  and  child  to  come  to  their  new  home! 

Suddenly  Madame  Varneck  started  up.  Over  the  surging 
of  the  trees,  over  the  uproar  of  wind  and  waves  and  rain,  the 
■ound  of  carriage  wheels  rolling  along  the  graveled  drive 
caught  her  listening  ears.  Yes,  they  had  come.  Impetuously 
the  old  lady  flung  open  the  drawing-room  door  and  swept  out 
into  the  wide,  lofty,  lighted  hall.  A  colo  ed  man-servant 
threw  open  the  house  door,  and  Mr.  Gilmer,  followed  by  a 
lady  and  a  little  girl,  strode  in. 

**  Heavens!  what  a  night!  How  do  you  do,  Madame  Var- 
neck? Here  we  are  at  last,  despite  the  united  forces  of  sky, 
and  earth,  and  Hade&  Madame  Varneck,  allow  me  to  pre^ 
sent  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  and  our  little  Miss  Dora.'' 

But  madame,  without  waiting  for  that  formal  iutroduotion,. 


i': 


fi 


I 


40 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEJST    GOWFR. 


had  pushed  past  the  lawyer  and  clasped  her  son's  wife  sud- 
denly in  her  arms. 

**  My  own  dear  daughter!"  she  said,  kissing  the  pale, 
beautiful  face;  "  welcome  homo!" 

Perhaps  the  loving  greeting  was  something  so  very  new  to 
Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck,  something  so  very  unexpected — or  per- 
haps she  was  hysterical — but  the  handsome  head  fell  upon  the 
stately  old  lady's  shoulder,  and  she  broke  out  into  a  perfect 
passion  o"*  weeping.  Mr.  Gilmer  put  on  his  spectacles,  and 
looked  on  as  though  hardly  able  to  oelieve  his  own  eyes. 

"  Bless  my  soul!"  he  mentally  ejaculated.  **  Who'd  have 
thought  it?  She  is  not  quite  an  iceberg,  then,  although  she 
looks  it  I  never  had  such  a  good  opinion  of  Gilbert  Var- 
neck's  marble  consort  before." 

"  My  dear — my  dear!"  the  old  lady  murmured,  softly,  kitiS- 
ing  the  hidden  face,  and  her  own  voice  tremulous.  **  1  have 
been  a  cruel  mother  in  the  past,  but  I  am  going  to  be  very 
good  to  you.  My  lost  darling's  wife  must  eyer  hold  the  fore- 
most place  in  my  lonely  old  heart  now.  And  this  is  my  little 
girl — my  Gilbert's  child — my  own  dear  little  granddaughter — 
our  pretty  futuie  heiress!  Come  here,  my  dear,  and  kiss 
grandmamma." 

The  child  shyly  advanced.  She  had  been  standing  behind 
her  mother,  not  clinging  to  her,  as  is  childhood's  wont,  but 
standing  a  little  apart,  looking  on  with  shining,  solenn  gray 
eyes.  Mme.  Varneck  took  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  the 
shy  little  drooping  face  again  and  again. 

**  Gilbert's  child — Gilbert's  little  daughter!  Oh,  my  dar- 
ling! you  must  love  grandmamma  very  much,  to  make  up  for 
all  she  has  lost.  But  come  in.  How  selfish  I  am,  keeping 
you  standing  here  in  this  chill  hall!  Ah!  how  long  the  hours 
have  been  to-day!  How  impatiently  I  have  waited  for  this 
moment  I  I  am  a  very  undisciplined  old  woman,  I  am  afraid 
— as  impatient  and  impetuous  as  ever,  Mr.  Gilmer." 

**  Impatience  and  impetuosity  are  family  failings,  ma- 
dame,"  the  lawyer  answered,  coolly.  '*  1  don't  expect  you 
will  ever  outgrow  them. " 

He  follow^  her  into  the  long  drawing-room — brilliant  with 
fire-light  and  lamp-light — and  the  little  girl  uttered  a  low  cry 
of  surprise  and  delight  at  sight  of  all  this  hitherto  unimagined 
Bpiendor. 

"  Pretty,  isn't  it,  Dora?"  Mr.  Gilmer  said.  *'  Better  even 
than  that  gorgeous  hotel  mamma  took  you  to,  and  whose  radi- 
ant glories  you  can  not  forget." 

'^Dora  has  been  used  to  verv:  little  splendor  in  her  short 


^^ 


^THE   HEIRESS   OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


41 


pale^ 


life  time,"  said  Dora's  mother,  speaking  for  the  first  time, 
"  She  has  early  learned  the  hard  lesson  of  poverty  and  priva- 
tion." 

**  But  that  is  all  at  an  end  now,"  old  madame  interposed, 
gently.  '*  My  dear,  let  by-gones  b«  by-gones.  Oar  pretty 
little  Dora  will  speedily  forget  the  hard  past  in  the  bright 
present.  Who  is  she  like?  Not  you,  my  dear — and  not  her 
lather." 

She  was  looking  earnestly,  wistfully,  in  the  small  face — try- 
ing to  trace  some  resemblance  to  her  idolized  son,  and  trying 
in  vain.  She  glanced  at  the  mother.  No!  the  bright  little 
rosy  face,  with  its  commonplace  prettiness,  was  not  in  the 
Jeast  like  that  pale  and  perfect  beauty. 

"  Eudora  is  like  my  family,"  Mrs.  Gilbert  said,  answering 
that  look;  ""  but  she  is  not  like  me,  and  not  at  all  like  her 
father." 

'*  So  1  see."  Mme.  Varneck  laid  her  hand  on  the  bell  as 
she  spoke,  with  a  cold  feeling  of  disappointment  at  her  heart. 
**  But  you  are  all  three  tired  and  hungry,  I  am  certain,  after 
your  long  and  disagreeable  journey.  Your  rooms  are  ready, 
and  your  luggage  taken  up,  and  dinner  waits.  Susie,  show 
these  ladies  to  their  apartments.  Mr.  Gilmer,  you  know  your 
own  room.     The  dinner-bell  will  ring  in  twenty  minutes." 

Susie — a  bright  mulatto  girl — courtesied  and  led  the  way 
up  a  grand,  sweeping  staircase,  along  a  richly  carpeted  and 
pictured  corridor,  and  into  a  sumptuous  chamber  fit  for  a 

{)rincess.  A  fire  burned  on  the  hearth,  wax  candles  stood 
ighted  on  the  toilet-table — carpet,  curtains,  easy-chairsj  and 
pictures  were  all  perfection.  The  bed  stood  in  a  curtained 
recess,  hung  with  curtains  of  rose  silk  under  misty  lace. 

The  large  dark  eyes  of  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  blazed  up 
with  a  sudden  triumphant  light,  and  a  passing  flush  of  sensu- 
ous pleasure  colored  the  marble  whitenots  of  her  face.  And 
**0h,  how  pretty!"  cried  little  Dora.  "This  is  the  nicest 
house  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  life,  mamma!" 

"  Very  likely,  indeed,"  said  mamma,  coolly.  **  It  is  a 
very  pretty  room,  and  Glen  Gower  altogether  is  a  very  fine 
place.     This  is  your  chamber,  Dora,  1  take  it." 

An  inner  door  stood  wide,  disclosing  the  daintiest  little 
white  nest.  The  carpet  was  white — violets  blooming  in  snow 
^-the  chairs  were  like  polished  ivory,  cushioned  in  azure. 
Exquisite  little  statuettes  glimmered  in  the  pale  light,  and  the 
bed  Wfts  a  snow-drift,  curtained  in  foamy  lace.  At  this  daz- 
zling sight  Miss  Eudora  uttered  an  eloquent  cry  of  rapture,  and 
thfyn  stood  in  speechless  ecstasy. 


42 


THE    HEIKESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


"  And  this  is  your  bath-room,  madame,"  said  Susie,  open- 
ing a  second  door;  '*  and,  if  you  please,  Fm  to  be  y^ur  maid 
and  little  missy's.  Will  madame  please  to  open  the  trunks 
and  let  me  dress  her  for  dinner?'" 

Madame  submitted  with  the  grace  of  a  born  princess.  It 
v/as  decidedly  a  novel  sensation  for  the  ex-seamstress  and 
governess,  all  this  splendor  and  all  this  obsequious  attention; 
but  she  took  it  with  the  haughty  grace  of  one  to  the  purple 
born.  And  when  the  noisy  dinner-bell  had  ceased  its  clang- 
ing?, and  she  swept  down  the  grand  stair-way,  dressed  in  black 
silk,  with  a  simple  gold  pin  fastening  her  lace  collar,  and  all 
her  dead-black  hair  coiled  like  a  coronet  around  her  regal 
head,  old  Mme.  Varneck  was  fain  to  admit  that  her  handsome 
daughter-in-law  would  have  graced  a  throne.  Yes,  she  was 
very  handsome,  very  stately,  and  as  innately  haughty  and  up- 
lifted as  if  "  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Ho  ward  g ''  flowed  blue  in 
those  plebeian  vems;  but,  fc  all  that,  madame  felt  chilled  and 
diL'appointed.  Was  this  the  gentle,  loving,  clinging  creature 
Gilbert  had  written  that  eloquent  letter  about,  a  decade  of 
years  ago — this  proud,  pale,  flashing-eyed,  resolute-looking, 
imperious  beauty? 

Little  Dora  tripped  after  in  a  white  muslin  frock  and  blue 
sash,  the  brown  hair  freshly  curled,  and  looking  very  bright 
and  pretty.  The  old  lady's  lonely  heart  warmed  to  her,  albeit 
thee  was  no  trace  of  her  paternity  in  that  sparkling  little 
countenance. 

**  How  do  you  like  your  rooms,  my  dear?"  madame  said. 
**  I  chose  a  sunny,  southern  prospect.     I  hope  they  suit  you?*' 

**  They  are  perfect,  madame,"  Mrs.  Gilbert  said.  **  As 
for  Eudora,  words  are  poor  and  weak  to  describe  her  rapt- 


ures. 


I  never  saw  anything  half  so  lovely  in  all  my  life — grand- 
mamma!" said  the  child,  with  a  shy  pause  before  the  title. 
^*'  And  are  all  the  pretty  things  in  that  beautiful  white  room 
my  own — my  very  own  forever?" 

**  Your  own  forever,  petite,  and  a  thousand  times  as  many 
pretty  things.  Wait  until  Eudora  sees  all  the  pretty  dresses, 
and  hats,  and  dolls,  and  picture-books,  and  the  watch  and  the 
pony  grandmamma  is  going  to  give  her.  You  would  like  to 
nave  a  watch  and  pony,  wouldn't  you,  my  pet?" 

**0h!"  cried  Eudora,  rapturously;  and  "oh!"  she  cried 
once  again  ae  she  followed  grandmamma  into  the  dining- 
room.  No  wonder  she  v/as  dazzled,  poor  chila,  at  all  that 
array  of  cut-glass  and  shining  silver  and  hot-house  flowers, 
sparkling  and  flashing  in  the  blaze  of  the  chandelier — a  won- 


THE    HEIRESS   OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


48 


derful  chandelier,  where  horse  and  hound  hunted  the  deer 
through  a  forest  of  frosted  silver. 

Little  Eudora  sat  at  grandmamma's  left  hand,  and  feasted 
her  eyes  and  her  palate  together  throughout  that  wonderful 
meal.  It  was  all  a  fairy  tale,  and  grandmamma  was  the  fairy 
godmother,  and  she  the  happiest  little  girl  that  ever  danced  in 
an  enchanted  castle.  -• 

**  If  Granny  Croak  could  onlv  see  me  now!"  Irttle  Dora 
thought;  but  mamma  had  drille-d  her  little  girl  pretty  thor- 
oughly during  the  past  week,  and  Granny  Croak  was  an  in- 
terdicted name. 

They  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  when  that  enchanted 
repast  was  over,  and  mamma  sat  down  at  the  grand  piano  and 
played  the  wonderful  melodies  of  Beethoven  and  Mozart,  and 
grandmamma's  thoughts  went  back  to  that  last  letter  of  her 
lost  son  and  the  wild  rhapsodies  he  had  gone  into  over  the 
singing  and  playing  of  his  angel.  Was  not  every  word  of  that 
last  letter  seared  in  letters  of  fire  on  the  widowed  mother's 
proud  heart? 

**  You  play  beautifully,  my  daughter,"  she  said,  with  a 
long,  smothered  sigh.  *'  Will  you  not  sing  for  us? — or  per- 
haps you  are  too  much  fatigued/' 

**  1  am  not  in  the  least  fatigued,  madame.  What  '=ihall  I 
sing?" 

**  Whatever  you  like  best,  my  dear." 

She  chose  an  old  ballad — **  Robin  Adair  " — and  she  sung 
well,  in  a  clear  soprano;  but  Mme.  Varneck  was  disappointed. 
The  song  was  sweet,  but  she  sung  without  fealing. 

The  little  party  separated  early — Dora  was  dropping  asleep 
in  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  with  her  curly  head  in  grand- 
mamma's black  satin  lap.  Susie— the  intelligent  mulatto  maid 
— conducted  Mrs.  Gilbert,  Varneck  and  Eudora  upstairs  to 
iheir  pretty  rooms.  Grandmamma  took  them  both  in  her 
arms  before  she  let  them  go. 

*'  Good-night,  and  God  bless  both  my  children!"  she  said, 
her  voice  tremulous.  "  Oh,  my  daughter,  try  to  love  me  for 
Gilbert's  sake — for  my  old  heart  is  very  lonely!" 

And  Mrs.  Gilbert's  cold,  thin  lips  just  touched  the  old  lady's 
forehead  in  an  empty  kiss,  and  then  she  was  gone — up  in  the 
light  and  bloom  and  beauty  o<  ber  beautiful  room. 

Susie  undressed  little  missy  and  curled  her  up  in  the  fra- 
grant lace  and  linen  of  her  snow-white  nest.  Then  she  was 
abruptly  dismissed — her  new  mistress  chose  to  undress  her- 
self—quietly turned  out,  and  the  door  locked  in  her  face. 

And  she  was  alone— the  handsome  adventuress  who  had 


44 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


boldly  risked  so  much,  who  had  played  so  daring  a  game,  and 
who  had  won.  She  stood  before  the  fire,  looking  down  in  its 
dying  depths,  and  the  bold,  handsome  face  was  all  alight  with 
triumph  as  she  gazed. 

*'  And  all  this  is  mine!'*  she  said  under  her  breath,  looking 
triumphantly  around.  *'  Wealth  and  luxury,  and  ease  and 
honor,  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  have  played  a  desperate 
game,  but  I  have  won— I  have  won!" 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  a  portrait  over  the  mantel — a  portrait  of 
Gilbert  Varneck  at  nineteen,  taken  just  before  that  fatal  visit 
North,  for  his  doting  mother.  The  bright,  handsome  face 
smile-d  frankly  down  on  her,  radiant  as  if  alive. 

**  How  handsome  he  was!*'  she  thought;  *'  and  how  good 
he  looks!  If  I  had  been  the  wife  of  such  a  man  as  that,  what 
a  different  woman  1  might  be!  But  Gerald  Kosslyn  was  a 
fiend  incarnate,  and  he  made  another  of  me!" 

Half  an  hour  later  dead  silence  reigned  within  the  house; 
every  light  was  extinguished;  all  had  retired.  But  Mme. 
Varneck's  new  daughter  did  not  sleep.  She  lay  tossing  rest- 
lessly, looking  at  the  lurid  glow  of  the  dying  fire,  and  listening 
to  the  wild  wind  and  rain  of  the  stormy  night. 

The  midnight  hour  was  long  past  before  she  dropped  into  a 
feverish  slumber,  and  then  only  to  be  disturbed  by  weird 
dreampi.  Now  it  was  her  dead  sister  who  stood  by  her  bed- 
side— a  pale,  reproachful  ghost. 

**  I  trusted  you,  Adelia,"  the  dead  lips  seemed  to  say,  **  and 
see  how  you  betrayed  that  trust!" 

The  pale  specter  flitted  away  and  another  came  in  its  stead 
— Gilbert  Varneck,  stern  and  terrible,  with  angry  eyes  and 
menacing  gesture. 

**  1  am  coming!"  the  stern  lips  seemed  to  say.  "  Liar  and 
impostor,  beware!" 

And  with  a  low  cry  of  terror  and  the  cold  drops  standing  on 
her  brow,  the  dreamer  awoke — to  sleep  no  more — to  turn  her 
panic-stricken  face  to  the  wall  and  wait  for  the  morning. 


'if  " 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

COMING. 

Mr.  Gilmer,  the  lawyer,  departed  immediately  after  break- 
fast. Pressing  professional  engagements,  the  old  gentleman 
pleaded,  kept  him  bound  to  the  treadmill,  and  compelled  him 
to  tear  himself  away  from  the  enchantments  of  Glen  Gower. 
Little  Dora  and  the  two  ladies  stood  in  ths  portico  and 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


45 


and 


watched  him  drive  away  in  a  radiant  morning  sunburst.     Mr. 
Gilmer  waved  his  handkerchief  to  them  and  disappeared. 

**  They  won't  quarrel,  after  all/'  he  thought.  "  The  old 
one's  too  polite  and  the  young  one's  too  politic.  And  yet 
they've  each  got  the  pride  and  the  temper  of  the  Miltonio 
Lucifer  himself." 

It  w^"  one  of  those  jubilant  summer  mornings,  of  brightest 
sunshine  and  balmy  breezes,  that  follow  violent  rain-storms. 
The  swelling  meadows  where  the  red  cows  cropped,  the  slop- 
ing, velvety  lawns,  the  darls  woods,  and  the  old-fashioned 
pleasaunce  were  all  a-glitter  with  rain-drops  shining  in  the 
sun  as  if  sown  with  stars.  The  old  house — a  strong,  square 
structure  of  red  sandstone — stood  on  a  sloping  eminence,  and 
from  the  portico  where  they  lingered  Mme.  Varneck's  daugh- 
ter-in-law could  see  far  and  wide. 

**  Look  around  you,  Dora,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  said, 
with  a  proud  smile  and  a  kindling  eye — "  look  around,  my 
little  heiress;  for  all  you  can  see  is  your  own.  We  Varnecks 
have  held  this  noble  estate  since  the  days  of  Lord  Calvert." 

Little  Dora's  bright  gray  eyes  danced  over  the  sunlit  pros- 
pect. Yes,  it  was  very  fair  in  the  jocund  sunshine  of  the  glori- 
ous August  morning — from  those  lofty  entrance  gates,  with 
the  arms  of  the  Varnecks'  emblazoned  thereon,  to  the  noble 
avenue  of  oak  and  beech,  the  green  glades,  the  leafy  arcades 
of  the  deep,  dark  woodland,  the  smooth-rolled  lawn,  with  a 
huge  fish-pond  in  the  center  where  gold  and  silver  fishes 
swam,  to  the  sunny  stone  terraces  where  gaudy  peacocks 
strutted.  A  fountain,  where  graceful  naiads  disported, 
splashed  in  its  marble  basin,  and  the  long,  quaint  flower  gar- 
den was  all  a-bloom  with  red  and  creamy  roses.  Cape  jasmine, 
and  magnolias.  Behind  (he  house  spread  away  a  little  village 
of  outhouses  and  the  quarters  of  the  colored  people,  with  a 
grand  old  orchard,  rich  with  fruit,  and  beyond  all  the  blue, 
bright,  boundless  sea.  Little  Dora  clapped  her  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  of  child i:ih  delight. 

"Oh!  how  pretty!"  she  cried.  **  Oh,  grandmamma,  it  is 
like  heaven,  this  place!" 

Grandmamma  laughed,  very  well  pleased,  and  patted  the 
rosy  cheek. 

**  Little  enthusiast!  Not  quite,  1  hope.  But  I  am  glad  the 
heiress  of  Glen  Gower  likes  her  ancestral  home.  Would  you 
not  wish  to  see  the  house?    And  you,  my  daughter?" 

**  If  it  does  not  inconvenience  you,  madame." 
My  daughter  " — there  was  infinite  gentleness  in  the  proud 


<< 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


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voice — "  IS  it,  then,  so  hard  to  say  mother?    For  Gilbert's 
■ake,  Eleaner— we  both  loved  him!'' 

The  pale  face  of  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  turned,  for  an  in- 
stant, ashen  white.  But,  stooping,  she  kissed  the  shapely  old 
hand,  and  hid  that  passing  spasm. 

"  Dear  mother!  it  does  not  need  his  memory  to  make  me 
love  you.  You  overpower  me!  Ah,  mother,  I  am  so  little 
used  to  love!" 

**  Ws  will  make  you  forget  the  past.  Come,  little  Dora, 
»nd  see  your  home." 

She  led  the  way  into  a  long,  pretty  room,  all  glowing  with 
gold  and  cinnamon.  The  domed  ceiling  was  painted,  the 
walls  were  tinted  brightest  rose,  the  carpet  was  crimson  vel- 
vet, and  the  chairs  and  sofas  cushioned  in  the  same.  The 
tall  windows  were  draped  with  crimson  satin  damask,  and 
swingipg  doors  of  massive  plate-glass,  at  the  further  extremity, 
showed  a  conservatory  with  tinkling  fountains. 

**  This  is  the  winter  drawing-room,"  madame  said,  passing 
through.  *'  These  bright  colors  have  a  very  snug  effect  on  a 
piercing  winter  day.  This  is  our  conservatory,  and  the  pride 
of  the  house. " 

She  flung  open  the  glass  doors  and  led  the  way  in.  Little 
Dora  uttered  another  cry  of  delight  and  wonder  at  sight  of 
the  tall  tropical  plants,  the  orange  and  myrtle- trees,  the  splen- 
did roses,  the  pale  Floras,  and  dryads  and  nymphs,  the  birds 
singing  in  gilded  cages,  the  gold-fish  swimming  in  marble 
basins,  and  the  August  sunshine  glorifying  all. 

A  second  door,  opening  from  the  conservatory,  led  them 
back  to  the  entrance  hall,  paved  in  mosaic  of  black  and  white 
marble.  Madame  led  the  way  into  a  library,  all  lined  with 
dark,  rich  book-cases,  with  one  large  Venetian  window,  and  a 
ceiling  in  compartments  of  gold  and  azure.  Busts  and 
bronzes  on  massive  black  marble  pedestals  stood  around,  and 
pctraits  of  Mme.  Varneck  and  her  late  husband,  in  oval 
irames,  looked  down  at  you  from  over  the  carved  chimney- 
piece. 

**  You  have  seen  the  dining-room  and  the  summer  drawing 
room,"  madamf:  said;  **  so  now  we  will  go  upstairs." 

The  stair- way  was  rich  in  busts  and  statues,  and  the  upper 
hall  richly  carpeted,  and  columned  in  marble.  An  oriel  win- 
dow was  at  one  extremity,  through  which  the  soft,  abundant 
light  showered,  and  portraits  of  dead  and  gone  Varnecks  smiled 
grimly  down  from  the  oak-paneled  walls. 

**  And  here  is  our  state  bedroom,"  madame  says,  throwing 
open  the  door  of  a  sumptuous  chamber—'"  only  used  upon  the 


THE    HEIBESS    OP    QLEN    GOWER. 


47 


visit  of  some  guest  of  distinction,  or  the  marriage  of  the  son 
or  daughter  of  the  house." 

Even  Mrs.  Gilbert  utters  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  ad' 
miration,  for  nothing  so  stately  or  gorgeous  has  ever  entered 
her  dreams  before.  Madame  gives  them  time  to  examine  it? 
splendors  before  she  leads  the  way  to  a  second  sleeping-room. 
A  very  simple  room  this — the  floor  covered  with  delicate  In- 
dian matting,  the  walls  hung  with  pictures  of  dogs  and  deer, 
and  celebrated  beauties  of  the  French  court,  and  with  guna 
and  pistols,  and  swords  and  sabers,  and  fishing  apparatus,  in 
racks  along  the  wall.  Turkish  pipes  and  chibouques,  meer- 
schaums Dud  cigjar-cases,  strew  the  tables;  a  velvet  smoking- 
cap  lies  on  the  bed;  a  crimson  dressing-gown  is  thrown  care- 
lessly across  a  chair,  as  if  the  wearer  had  but  just  taken  it  off; 
French  novels  and  plays  are  strewn  about,  and  slippers  and 
riding-whips  are  everywhere.  Mme.  Varneck's  face  works  a 
little. 


(4 


son's 


room,"  she  said;  '*  and  everything 


It  was  my 
just  as  he  left  it." 

Once  again  that  white  change  passed  over  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Gilbert  \arneck,  and  an  icy  hand  seemed  to  clutch  her  heart 
She  paused  on  the  threshold,  as  if  she  dared  go  no  further. 

"If  I  had  only  been  his  wife,"  she  thought,  "  how  dearly 
I  might  have  loved  him!  What  a  good  woman  I  might  ha\re 
been!  How  precious  and  how  sacred  all  these  things  would 
be  to  me  now!" 

Mme.  Varneck  took  them  next  to  her  own  apartments — 
bedroom,  bath-room,  dressing-room  en  suite.  Then  there 
were  other  chambers,  and  a  cozy  nursery  and  morning-room, 
end  a  little  study  that  had  been  Gilbert's.  And  all  along  the 
hall  were  rare  old  cabinets,  and  foreign  vases  taller  than  little 
Dora,  and  superb  bronzes,  and  an  array  of  priceless  old  china 
and  bric-a-brac,  until  the  little  girl's  head  ached  and  her  eyes 
were  dazzled  from  the  constant  succession  of  new  wonders. 

"  It  is  superb — it  is  magnificent!"  Mrs.  Gilbert  said,  as 
they  retraced  their  steps.  *'  T  have  read  of  such  houses.  I 
never  expected  to  see  one  in  this  country." 

"Our  house  is  the  same  and  modeled  after  a  far  older  house 
in  England — Lord  Strathmore's  country  seat,"  replied  ma- 
dame,  proudly.  "  The  Earl  of  Strathmore  is  nay  cousin,  you 
know,  my  dear.  There  is  nothing  like  Glen  Gower  in  tht 
State — nothing  to  surpass  it,  1  flatter  myself,  in  the  country. 
We  come  of  an  old  stock  and  a  proud  stock,  we  Lauristons 
and  Varnecks,  and  Gilbert  was  the  last  of  our  race — our  pride 
and  our  hope.     We  looked  to  him  to  add  new  splendor  to  our 


4$ 


i'HB    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


ancient  name;  we  had  set  our  heart  upon  his  marriage  with 
the  Lady  Hortense  Eddersdaie,  his  distant  cousin.  She  is  a 
marchioness  now,  my  dear,  but  she  would  have  married  my 
son.  And  when  he  wrote  me  that  letter,  telling  me  all  the 
dreams  of  my  life  were  dashed  to  the  earth — telling  me  he 
had  wooed  and  won  a  bride  rich  in  youth  and  beauty,  and 
gentleness  and  love,  and  poor  in  all  things  else — oh,  Eleanor, 
try  to  put  yourself  in  my  place,  and  blame  me  for  my  answer 
if  you  can!" 

*'  It  was  very  natural,*'  the  younger  lady  murmured,  cold 
and  pale. 

They  had  returned  to  the  pleasant  drawing-room,  and  *vere 
seated  in  the  sunlit  window,  alone.  Little  Dora  was  romping 
with  a  tawny  hound  up  and  down  the  long  stone  terrace. 

"  I  cast  him  off,"  Mme.  Varneck  went  on,  *'  although  my 
heart  broke  in  the  effort.  1  can  not  tell  you  how  cruel,  ho\r 
bitter,  was  the  awakening  from  all  my  dreams.  I  tliought 
him  the  silly  dupe  of  some  scheming  adventuress.  I  would 
not  look  at  it  in  its  true  light.  I  would  make  no  allowance 
for  hot-headed  youth  and  romantic  first  love.  1  cast  him  off, 
and  I  shut  myself  up  here,  a  miserable,  lonely,  broken-hearted 
woman.  Then  came  the  news  of  that  robbery  and  his  flight, 
and  it  laid  me  upon  a  sick-bed — ill  unto  death.  Ah!  my 
child,  instead  of  softening  my  heart,  it  hardened  it  more  and 
more.  1  grew  to  hate  the  daughter-in-law  I  had  never  seen — 
for  1  looked  upon  her  as  the  primary  cause  of  all  my  woe.  I 
rose  from  that  sick-bed  as  wretched  a  woman  as  ever  the  sun 
shone  on.  *  And  still  my  days  went  on,  went  on,'  though  all 
that  had  made  life  dear  was  lost.  But  the  first  soreness  and 
bitterness  slowly  wore  away,  and  when  I  gave  up  all  hope  of 
ever  seeing  Gilbert  again,  my  thoughts  wandered  to  Gilbert's 
wife,  and  child,  perhaps — for  I  thought  there  might  bo  a  child. 
So  there,  my  dear,  you  know  all,  and  we  two  lonely  women 
must  learn  to  love  each  other  for  the  sake  of  the  beloved  on© 
forever  lost!" 

"  Forever?"  the  younger  woman  slowly  repeated.  *'  Then 
you  think  your  son  is  dead?" 

"  How  can  1  think  otherwise?"  madame  said,  shrinking  a 
little  at  the  question,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  asked. 
*'  If  he  were  alive,  you  would  surely  have  heard  from  him  long 
ere  this.     No,  my  dear — there  is  no  hope." 

A  sudden,  inexplicable  look  flashed  across  the  face  of  the 
woman  who  called  herself  Eleanor  Varneck  that  in  any  other 
lace  would  have  been  a  look  of  triumph. 

And  you,  Eleanor,'*  madame  said,  laying  her  hand  upon 


(( 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


49 


cold 


her  arm,  and  looking  earnestly  in  the  handsome,  resolute  faoe 
— **  your  life  has  been  a  hard  one^  I  fear,  since  you  lost  your 
husband." 

•*  So  hard,"  Eleanor  Varneck  said,  her  black  eyes  flaminp 
suddenly  up,  '*  that  I  wonder  I  did  not  go  down  to  the  dark 
and  dismal  river  and  end  its  long  misery  at  once — so  hard^ 
Madame  Varneck,  that  1  never  wish  to  speak  of  it — never 
wish  to  think  of  it;  its  faintest  recollection  is  horrible;  so 
hard,  that  my  life  was  one  long  martyrdom — one  long  torture 
—bitter,  degrading,  revolting.  At  eighteen  I  was  left  alone 
in  the  big,  cruel  world,  of  whose  misery  and  crime  1  was  as 
ignorant  as  a  baby,  to  fight  my  way  alone  hb  bt3t  I  could  for 
myself  and  my  child.  And,  madame,  1  had  never  been  used 
to  work.  We  had  never  been  rich — neither  had  we  been  poor. 
My  father  was  a  country  clergyman,  able  to  educate  his 
daughters  as  ladies  should  be  educated — able  to  dress  them 
well  and  save  them  from  the  drudgery  of  life.  But  when  Gil- 
bert deserted  me,  hard  labor  or  the  cold  river-bed,  or  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  work-house,  were  my  alternatives.  1  chose  the 
former.  I  sent  my  child  away  into  the  country.  I  was  waitress, 
seamstress,  nursery  governess — anything  by  which  1  could  earn 
a  crust  to  eat  and  a  few  poor  garments  to  wear.  The  slights, 
the  sneers,  the  insults,  the  dangers  I  have  endured  in  the 
most  miserable  past  drive  me  wild  when  I  think  of  them.  1 
only  wonder  they  did  not  drive  me  mad  at  the  time.  I  was  a 
gentle,  loving,  timid  girl — I  am  a  hard,  resolute,  imbittored 
woman.  Those  who  knew  me  ten  years  ago  would  be  puzzled 
and  shocked  to  recognize  me  now.  My  life  has  been  a  hard, 
a  cruel,  a  bitter  one,  Mttdamv^  Varneck — and  I  want  to  forget 
it  if  I  can!" 

The  passionate  words  poured  out  like  a  torrent;  the  beauti- 
ful face  darkened  vindictively;  the  great  black  eyes  flashed 
fire.  Mme.  Varneck  shrunk,  appalled,  before  the  dark  spirit 
she  had  aroused. 

*'My  dear — my  dear!"  she  said,  appealingly,  "1  did  not 
think  you  felt  like  this.  My  love,  try  to  overcome  this  ter- 
rible bitterness  of  spirit,  for  the  discipline  of  the  past  may 
have  been  sent — must  have  been  sent — to  purify  you  ani 
make  you  a  better  woman. " 

Gilbert  Varneck's  wife  broke  into  a  bitter  laugh. 

•*  It  has  failed  signally,  then.  Madame,  let  us  drop  this 
subject.    1  never  want  to  speak  of  it,  or  think  of  it,  if  I  can." 

*'  As  you  please,  my  dear." 

She  sighed  as  she  said  it.  She  was  cruelly  disappointed  in 
her  new  daughter — this  dark,  vindictive,  passionate  woman. 


no 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


F 


when  she  had  hoped  for  the  Madonna-faced,  dove-eyed  bride 
Gilbert  had  raved  of  long  ago. 

From  that  day  they  never  spoke  of  the  past;  it  seemed  to 
drop  out  of  their  lives  as  though  it  had  never  been;  and  their 
new  existence  fairly  began. 

All  the  country  families  for  miles  around,  even  to  the  city 
of  Baltimore,  heard  the  wonderful  news  that  Gilbert  Var- 
neck's  deserted  wife  had  found  a  home  at  Glen  Gower.  They 
could  hardly  realize  it— Mme.  Varneck,  the  proudest  old 
woman  in  wide  America,  hunt  up  her  cast-oil  son's  plebeian 
wife  and  take  her  to  her  patrician  bosom,  Irom  the  slime  and 
dregs  of  city  life! 

But  it  was  true— an  incontrovertible  fact — and  the  country 
families  began,  in  a  burning  fever  of  curiosity,  to  call.  They 
remembered  Gilbert  Varneck — blue-eyed,  fair-haired,  hand- 
some, impetuous  Gilbert — and  they  remembered  the  shock  his 
low  marriage  had  been  throughout  the  State.  And  now  they 
were  to  see  that  low-born  bride — that  ex-actress,  or  ballet- 
dancer,  or  milliner's  apprentice,  or  something  else  equally  dis- 
reputable—a vulgar  creature,  no  doubt,  who  would  blush  and 
stammer  in  their  august  presence,  and  murder  Lindley  Mur- 
ray and  excoriate  madame's  pride  ten  thousand  times  a  day. 

They  began  to  call  from  far  and  wide;  and  Mme.  Varneck* 
more  haughtily  uplifted  than  ever,  received  them  like  a  royal 
duchess,  and  presented  them  proudly  to  **  my  daughter — Mrs. 
Gilbert  Varneck.''  And  a  real  divinity,  with  a  grandly  beau- 
tiful face  and  the  manner  of  a  princess  born,  looked  at  them 
out  of  two  flashing  black  eyes,  and  received  their  obeisance 
with  magnificent  hauteur.  She  felt  instinctively  they  came 
to  patronize,  and  she  froze  theat  with  one  blaze  of  those  glori- 
ous black  eyes.  Mme.  Varneck  might  find  it  hard  to  love 
this  statuesque  daughter-in-law,  but  it  was  very  easy  indeed  to 
be  proud  of  her. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  the  great  event  had  electrified 
the  community,  when  a  second  and  far  greater  shock  thrilled 
through  every  heart. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  a  large  dinner-party  at  Glen 
Gower,  and  the  long  dining-room  was  one  blaze  of  light,  and 
the  dinner  was  a  feast  for  the  gods.  Mme.  Varneck,  in  black 
velvet  and  family  diamonds,  presided  with  the  grand  grace  of 
a  queen,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert,  in  maize  moire  and  starry  opals, 
was  bewilderingly  beautiful — too  gorgeous  to  tell.  Little  Dora 
was  there,  too,  as  an  especial  treat,  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  rose- 
bad^  in  snowy  moslin  and  flattering  pink  ribbons,  and  not  in 


tl 

a 
fj 


a 

g 

r 

s 


THlii    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


51 


the  least  daunted  by  all  that  crowd  of  well-dressod  ladies  and 
gentlemen. 

They  had  f^djou^ned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  Mrs.  Gilberii 
at  the  piano  was  doing  brilliant  execution,  and  old  madamo's 
face  was  all  aglow  with  pride  and  pleasure,  when  Maria,  her 

Eretty  quadroon  maid,  appeared  at  the  door  and  summoned 
er  mysteriously  away. 

'*  It's  a  young  man  from  the  village,  with  a  letter,*'  said 
Maria.  **  He's  at  the  door — and,  please,  missis,  he  says  how 
you  must  sign  your  name  afore  he  gives  it. " 

"  A  telegram,  perhaps,"  said  madamo,  surprised.  **  Who 
can  it  be  from?" 

It  proved  to  be  from  Mr.  Gilmer.  An  instant  later  the  com- 
pany in  the  drawing-room  were  electrified  by  a  shrill  scream. 
Wildly  excited,  Mme.  Varneck  burst  into  their  midst. 

**  He  is  alive  I  he  is  coming!  Eleanor!  Eleanor!  he  is  alive 
and  well!    Oh,  thank  God!  thank  God!  thank  God!" 

And  then,  with  a  burst  of  wild  laughter,  self-possessed 
Mme.  Varneck  fell  back  in  Maria's  arms,  in  violent  hysterics. 

Eleanor  Varneck  rose  from  the  piano,  picked  up  the  tele- 
gram, and  calmly  read  it  aloud: 


*' Madame   Varneck, — Your 
reached  New  York  an  hour  ago. 


son    is    alive    and    well — 
Have  told  him  all.     Will 
start  for  home  immediately.     May  expect  him  in  two  days. 

"William  Gilmer." 


The  company  dispersed  in  wildest  excitement.  Madame, 
in  strong  hysterics,  was  bori  e  away  to  her  room.  Maria  and 
Susie  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  remained  with  her  until  far  into  the 
night  before  the  hysterics  gave  way  and  she  fell  into  a  sound 
sleep.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  the  younger  lady  retired  to 
her  own  apartment — but  not  to  sleep. 

No,  not  to  sleep.  Should  she  ever  sleep  again?  Dead,  and 
in  her  coffin,  she  could  never  look  more  ghastly  than  she 
looked  now.  In  all  the  beauty  and  luxury  of  her  dainty 
room,  she  sunk  down  by  the  bed,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
as  miserable  a  woman  as  ever  battled  with  her  despair. 

**0h,  great  God!"  she  thought;  **  and  has  it  all  been  for 
nothing — the  lies  and  the  deception?  And  must  I  go  back  to 
the  old  miseiy  and  the  old  horrors,  after  all?  I  have  deceived 
the  lawyer,  I  have  deceived  the  mother,  but  who  will  de^ 
oeive  the  husband?" 


69 


THE    HEIRE88    OP    GLEN    OOWER. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Th3  steam  packet  '*  Europa  "  was  within  two  hours'  sail 
of  her  deatination.  Her  passengers  had  all  gone  thronging 
forward  to  catch  the  first  welcome  glimpse  of  the  modern 
Gotham.  No,  not  all.  One  passenger  held  himself  aloof, 
lounging  against  a  pillar  on  the  after-deck,  smoking  a  cigar, 
and  staring  straight  before  him  at  the  sunlit  ocean. 

He  was  a  stalwart  man  of  thirty — unmistakably  handsome, 
unmistakably  a  soldier.  The  face  was  bronzed  and  weather- 
beaten,  and  a  thick  mustache  and  beautiful,  dark-brown  beard 
concealed  and  adorned  the  resolute  mouth.  The  great  blue 
eyes  stared  at  you  frankly  out  of  the  soldierly,  sunburned 
face,  and  the  scar  of  a  saber  cut  ran  transversely  all  along  the 
left  cheek,  from  ear  to  chin.  The  August  day  was  warm,  but 
the  bronzed  soldier  was  buttoned  up  to  the  throat  in  a  shaggy 
great-coat.  As  he  stood  there,  solitary  and  alone,  a  man  came 
noiselessly  behind  him,  and  a  slender  white  hand,  as  shapely 
as  a  woman's,  fell  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 

'**  Apart  from  the  vulgar  herd,  1  dream  my  dreams 
alonel'  "  quoted  a  deep,  musical  voice.  '*  Have  you  no  curi- 
osity to  behold  again  your  native  land,  my  colonel?  Lol  the 
spires,  and  domes,  and  minarets  of  gorgeous  New  York  glisten 
already  in  the  summer  sun!" 

**  Don't  be  an  idiot,  Dandin,  and  don't  be  hifalutin,"  said 
the  colonel,  with  a  shrug.  **  No — I  have  no  particular  desire 
10  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  dirty  New  York.  I  haven't  set 
toot  on  my  native  land  for  ten  long  years,  Cajlain  Dandin, 
and  now  that  it  draws  near,  1  dread  the  sigl^  as  I  never 
dreaded  death  from  a  Sepoy  bullet,  in  all  our  horrible  Indian 
mutiny.  A  blow  worse  than  anv  death  those  black  fiends 
could  inflict  may  await  me  there.'' 

*'  As  how?    But  pardoni    It  may  be  impertinent  to  ask." 

The  stalwart  colonel  flung  his  cigar  overboard,  d^red  after 
it  moodily  for  an  instant,  then  suddenly  linked  ^s  arm  in 
that  of  his  companion,  and  began  pacing  up  and  down  the  de- 
serted promenade-deck.  \ 

They  were  a  striking  contrast,  those  two  men,  in  Ml  but 
age,  which  was  the  same.  The  stalwart  colonel,  brown  and 
bearded  and  handsome — the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  gallant  sol- 
dier. And  Captain  Dandin — but  Captain  Dandin  requiras  a 
rather  particular  description. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


0« 


He  was  very  tall  and  slender,  and  his  face  was  of  a  fixed 
and  deathly  pallor.  Jet-black  hair  and  whiskers  rendered  hia 
ghastly  pallor  all  the  more  striking,  and  two  piercing  black 
eyes  looked  out  from  under  heavy  black  brows.  Captaitt 
Dandin  mi^ht  have  been  a  remarkably  handsome  man,  despite 
that  corpse-like  pallor,  but  for  one  singular  disfigurement — he 
had  lost  his  nose.  The  spot  where  that  ornamental  appendage 
should  have  been  was  supplied  by  a  circular  patch  of  ilesn- 
>  colored  plaster,  and  the  loss  gave  the  man  a  penuJiarly  sinister 
and  disagreeable  expression,  lie  had  lost  it  in  a  duel  many 
years  ago,  ho  had  told  the  colonel  carelessly,  and  had  ejrowu 
reconciled  to  go  through  life  noseless  by  this  time,  although 
Vi  had  been  a  very  handsome  member  in  its  day,  and  he  had 
nearly  gone  mad  '  'th  mortification  at  first. 

**  For  I  was  a  handsome  fellow  in  my  time.  Colonel  Var- 
neck,"  the  noseless  captain  said,  with  a  laugh.  **  And  that 
^ot  changed  me  from  an  Adonis  to  a  Caliban.  It  lost  me  a 
wife,  too. 

*'  Lost  you  a  wife?  Oh,  1  suppose  your  fiancee  backed  from 
her  engagement  with  a  gentleman  deprived  of  a  nose?'' 

**  Not  so,  mo7i  ami,*'  the  captain  said,  coolly;  '*  she  was 
already  my  wife." 

**  And  she  deserted  you  for  that?  Why,  good  Heaven, 
Dandin!    What  a  heartless  creature  she  must  have  been!" 

**  All  women  are  heartless,  my  colonel — when  you  come  to 
find  them  out.  My  pretty  bride — she  was  in  the  first  blush  of 
bridehood  then — was  an  heiress,  and  a  beauty,  and  a  reigning 
belle.  I  was  a  poor  wretch,  and  my  stock  in  trade  was  my 
handsome  face  and  elegant  manners.  I  made  the  most  of  my 
stock  in  trade  and  what  is  vulgarly  called  *  the  gift  of  the 
gab,'  and  my  pretty  heiress  fell  desperately  in  lo\e  with  the 
penniless  irresistible.  She  married  me,  Varneck,  and  that 
diabolical  pistol-bullet  came  whizzing  along  and  ^  snapped 
off  my  nose,'  as  the  blackbird,  in  the  nursery  legend,  snapped 
off  the  maid's  in  the  garden.  They  thought  I  was  dead  at 
first— and,  by  Jove!  madame  would  have  infinitely  preferred 
being  an  interesting  young  widow  in  crape  and  sables  to  being 
the  mortified  wife  of  a  hideous  husband.  I  pass  over  the  scenes 
that  followed — the  tears,  the  hysterics,  the  wild  lamentations. 
She  abhorred  the  sight  of  me.  She  had  married  me  for  my 
beauty,  and  she  had  been  cruelly,  shamefully  taken  in  and 
Jone  for.  Papa  and  mamma  had  never  approved  of  the 
match,  and  rather  rejoiced  in  the  turn  affairs  had  taken;  so — 
well,  my  colonel,  we  effected  a  compromise.  They  were  rich, 
1  was  poor,  and  money  is  the  great  lever  that  moves  the 


d4 


tr£«    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER, 


world.  X  certain  sum  changed  hands;  there  was  a  quiet 
flirorce,  without  eclat  or  scandal.  Madame  became  mademoi- 
aelle  once  more,  and  went  abroad  with  papa  and  mamn'.a.  I 
read  her  marriage  in  an  English  paper  eight  months  after. 
She  had  hook-nJ  a  baronet  the  second  time.  I  have  never  seen 
her  since,  and  I  don't  wish  to. " 

**  And  you?"  the  colonel  asked. 

**  I  went  abroad,  also,  my  friend — went  to  Spain,  and  took 
my  daughter  with  me. " 

*'  But  you  said — I  thought — " 

Captain  Dandin  laugh^ — a  sinister  and  most  unpleasant 
laugh. 

'*  I  never  said,  my  colonel,  thit  Fairy  was  the  daughter  of 
my  heart'oss  bride.  Oh,  no!  madame  knew  nothing  of  her 
existence — not  that  it  would  have  mattered  much.  1  took 
Fairy  to  Spain — she  was  a  disagreeable  nuisance  in  long  robe^ 
at  the  time.  But  1  had  a  particular  spite  against  Fairy's 
mother,  and  so  removed  her  out  of  the  country.  There's  my 
story  for  you,  colonel,  and  the  history  of  the  loss  of  my  nose. 
1  might  be  «  millionaire  to-day,  and  one  of  the  chief  burghers 
of  New  York  City,  instead  of  the  beggarly  advenurer  and 
soldier  of  fortune  1  am,  if  I  had  only  retained  that  member. 
On  Svich  trifles  ninge  the  destiny  of  the  puppet  called  man." 

"  The  loss  of  one's  nose  is  no  trifle,  by  George!"  yaid  the 
coloiiel,  gravely,  feeling  his  own.  *'  But  your  wife,  Da-ndin, 
was  a  very  demon  in  petticoats.  To  think  of  her  deserting 
yon  for  that!    It's  enough  to  make  you  forswear  the  sex. " 

*'  1  forswore  them  1or£  ago,  colonel.  If  1  were  a  modern 
Alexander,  and  ruled  the  world,  1  would  make  a  suttee  of  the 
whole  of  them — one  grand  holocaust — and  burn  them  all  in 
the  same  vast  funeral  pyre.  Yes,  I  hate  women — one  woman 
in  particular,  and  if  I  ever  meet  her  " — he  stopped,  and  set 
liis  white  teeth  vindictively — **  I'll  make  that  woman  suffer 
3uch  agonies  as  never  woman  suffered  before." 

**  By  George!"  cried  Colonel  Varneck,  staring  with  his  big, 
blue  eyes.     "  Your  wife,  I  suppose?" 

*'  No — not  my  wife.  Never  mind  who.  I  have  come  back 
to  America  to  search  for  her — and  I'll  find  her  if  she's  above 
ground.     And  when  I  do — " 

He  stopped,  and  the  black,  vindictive  hatred  of  his  face  was 
something  diabolical. 

The  two  men  had  been  very  intimate  during  the  homeward 
voyage.  They  had  met  many  years  before  in  Spain,  and  Ca^ 
trin  Dandin  had  saved  the  life  of  Colonel  "Varneck.  Their 
paths  had  diverged  after  that»  and  they  had  met  again  by  tho 


■? 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


t> 


merest  chance  on  board  the  **Europa."  One  moonlight 
night,  pacing  the  deck,  the  noseless  captain  had  taken  the 
colonel  into  his  confidence  thus  far,  but  beyond  that  he  had 
never  gone,  and  of  Colonel  Varneck  ne  knew  no  more  than 
his  name. 

To-day,  however,  with  the  land  in  view,  and  old  memories 
filling  his  heart,  the  handsome  colonel  threw  off  his  reticence, 
and  told  his  story  to  his  companion. 

**  You  told  me  once,  Dandin,'*  he  said,  **  you  were  return- 
ing to  search  for  a  woman — well,  so  am  I.  You,  for  the 
woman  you  hate;  1,  for  the  woman  I  love.  Somewhere  in 
jcnder  big  city,  ten  years  ago,  I  deserted  a  wife— to-day  I 
rome  back  to  find  her. " 

Captain  Dandin  drew  out  a  cigar  and  lighted  it. 

**  You  married,  my  colonel?"  he  said,  gayly.  "  1  should 
never  have  suspected  you  of  such  folly." 

*'  1  married  a  wifa  ten  years  ago,  Dandin.  I  married  tho 
girl  I  loved — the  penniless  daughter  of  a  country  clergyman, 
beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  as  good  and  pure.  I  married  her, 
Dandin,  under  an  assumed  name,  disgraced  my  haughty 
mother,  and  was  cast  off  at  twenty,  to  beg  or  starve  as  I 
chose. " 

'*  Just  my  case  reversed.  Romantic,  no  doubt,  but  decide 
edly  unpleasant     What  «  fool  you  were,  Varneck!" 

"  No  doubt — but  it  is  t.  folly  1  have  never  regretievl.  Were 
you  ever  in  love,  Dandin?" 

**  Never — like  that.  Ten  years  ago,  I,  too,  was  bewildered 
by  raven  tresses  and  a  pair  of  black  eyes,  but  all  the  folly  waa 
on  her  side — poor  little  girl.  You  gave  the  world  for  love, 
and  th<mght  it  well  lost.     I  didn't;  1  left  that  part  to  her." 

**  Dandin,  I'r^  afraid  you've  been  a  villain!" 

*'  I'm  afraid  so,  too,"  replied  Captain  Dandin,  airily; 
**  however,  we  won't  discuss  the  subject  at  present.  How  did 
you  and  your  angel  get  on?" 

*'  We  starved.  1  took  her  to  the  city.  I  kept  the  name  my 
mother  was  so  proud  of  carefully  concealed — I  was  Launcelot 
Lauriston,  not  Gilbert  Varneck.  And  we  starved,  Danain. 
Day  by  day,  1  tramped  the  pitiless  city  looking  for  work,  and 
I  found  men's  hearts  harder  than  the  paving-stones  I  trod  on; 
day  by  day,  I  returned  home,  dispirited  and  despairing;  day 
by  day,  I  saw  my  darling's  face  grow  whiter  and  thinner. 
Cold  and  hunger  and  hardsjbip  she  endured,  but  the  angel 
smile  never  left  her  eye.  Not  once  did  she  complain — not 
once  did  she  reproach  me.  But,  oh,  my  Godl  was  there  ever 
ft  moment^  night  or  day,  sleeping  or  waking,  when  I  ceased 


66 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN"    GOWER. 


i     : 


to  reproach  myself?  At  last  1  grew  mad— 1  grew  desperate, 
reckless;  we  were  literally  starving.  It  was  the  bitter  heart 
o*  '.winter,  and  at  a  time  when  my  darling  needed  warmth  and 
food  most.  One  night  a  rich  man  was  knocked  down  and 
robbed  on  the  public  street— and,  Dandin,  I  was  the  robber. 
Half  the  money  I  inclosed  in  a  letter  to  my  wife,  the  other 
half  I  kept  and  fled.  1  never  saw  her  again ;  1  have  never 
heard  of  her  since.  The  good  God  alone  knows  what  has  be- 
come of  her  and  her  child,  out  if  Eleanor  Lyon  is  alive  on  this 
wide  earth,  I  will  find  her  before  1  die." 

Captain  Dandin  had  been  listening  negligently  enough  to 
the  story,  but  as  the  colonel  uttered  his  wife's  name  the  cigar 
he  had  been  smoking  dropped  upon  the  deck,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  themselves  on  the  agitated  face  with  a  wondering  stare. 

**  Who?"  he  said,  sharply — "  whom  did  you  say?" 

**  Eleanor  Lyon  was  my  wife's  maiden  name.  She  knew 
me  only  as  Launcelot  Lauriston,  but  she  more  than  suspected 
that  was  not  my  true  appellation.  Why,  Dandin,  how  you 
stare!    You  never  knew  Eleanor  Lyon?" 

"  No,"  said  Captain  Dandin,  slowly;  **  perhaps  not — ^but  I 
think  1  once  knew  her  sister." 

*'  Her  sister!  She  had  no  sister;  she  had  no  living  relatives 
— for  her  father  died  a  month  after  our  marriage,  xou  most 
be  mistaken." 

**  Ah!  no  doubt!"  The  queerest  smile  went  flickering  abont 
his  mouth  as  he  said  it.  '^  Lyon  is  no  uncommon  name. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  first?" 

"  Go  to  the  house  where  1  left  her.  It  is  but  one  chance  in 
a  thousand  my  hearing  of  her  there  now,  but  I  will  try,  I 
will  advertise;  I  will  set  detectives  on  her  track — I  will  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  find  my  lost  wife." 

Ten  years  is  a  tolerable  time.  She  may  be  dead. 
For  God's  sake,  Dandin!"  He  stopped  short,  turning 
ghastly  white.  **  No,  no,  no,  no!  My  wife  is  alive — poor, 
ill,  suffering,  changed,  perhaps,  but  alive.  1  loved  her,  1 
think,  as  no  husband  ever  loved  his  wife  before.  I  should  go 
mad  if  1  lost  her  now." 

*'  Ten  years  is  a  long  time,"  Captain  Dandin  reiterated. 
**  You  may  find  her — if  you  do  find  her — very  unlike  the 
angel  you  left;  prematurely  old  and  wrinkled,  and  haggard 
and  gray,  the  youth  and  beauty  forever  gone." 

"What  do  I  care,"  cried  the  impetuous  colonel,  **  so  that 
1  find  my  darling  alive?  1  will  love  her  the  better  for  the 
wrinkles  and  the  gray  hairs.  Do  you  think  I  have  not 
changed?    It  would  puzzle  my  lady  mother,  or  my  loving 


'.•1  * 


(4 


(& 


>9 


1 


■:! 


-Pi 


\ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEE. 


07 


little  Nelly,  to  recognize  in  the  big,  bearded,  browned  soldier 
the  fair-faced,  slender  stripling  who  left  them  a.  decade  of 
yee.vB  ago.  Let  me  find  her  alive  and  well — changed  out  ot 
all  tiuman  knowledge — let  me  only  find  her,  and  I  will  ask  no 
mcTO  ot  Fate.  My  love!  my  love!  to  think  of  all  you  have 
sutlered  for  me!' ' 

Captain  Dandin  held  out  his  hand. 

'*  You  have  my  best  wishes,  my  colonel.  If  I  can  aid  you 
in  any  way,  command  me.  I  don't  believe  in  petticoated 
angels  myself,  but  then  my  experience  of  the  sex  has  been 
rather  unfortunate. '* 

An  hour  later  and  the  two  men  were  treading  the  solid  pare 
and  were  stunned  by  the  first  crash  and  din  of  Babel  life. 

"  Tm  for  the  Astor — my  old  quarters,"  Captain  Dandin 
said;  **  and  you,  mon  ami  ?** 

"  I  shall  begin  my  search  at  once,"  was  the  reply.  **  I 
shall  seek  out  the  street  and  the  house  where  I  left  my  wife 
before  I  cross  any  other  threshold." 

"  And  find  the  house  pulled  down  half  a  dozen  years  ago," 
muttered  the  skeptical  captain;  **  however,  success  to  you. 
You  will  know  where  to  look  me  up.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  say, 
Varneck!" 

As  he  raised  his  voice  with  the  last  call,  a  gentleman  walk- 
ing rapidly  along  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  wheeling  round, 
faced  the  two  men. 

**  Varneck!"  he  muttered;  '*  the  very  name  that  was  upper- 
most in  my  thoughts.     Good  Heaven!  if  it  should  be  he!" 

He  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  handsome  young  colonel, 
staring  blankly. 

**  Ten  years  would  change  him,  surely,  and  hot  suns  will 
turn  men  tan  color.  The  beard  and  the  mustache  are  new  to 
me,  but  surely,  surely,  if  Gilbert  Lauriston  Varneck  is  in  the 
flesh,  yonder  he  stands." 

*'  Monsieur  does  not  spare  us,"  said  a  politely  mocking 
voice.  "Is  it  my  hideousness,  or  my  friend's  remarkable 
good  looks?" 

Before  the  third  party  thus  accosted  could  reply.  Colonel 
Varneck  sprung  forward  with  something  like  a  shout. 

"Gilmer,  by  everything  that's  lucky!  and  every  day  as 
young  as  this  time  ten  years!  Why,  Gilmer,  old  fellow,  how 
goes  it?" 

"  Gilbert  Varneck!"  gasped  the  lawyer. 

**  To  be  sure,  Gilbert  Varneck.  You  knew  I  would  com© 
back  on  your  hands,  didn't  you?  Bad  shillings  always  dot, 
Aud  how  have  you  been  all  those  eternal  ages?" 


« 


' 


db 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


/ 


"  When  did  you  land?'*  Mr.  Gilmer  was  just  able  to  gasp. 

**  Half  an  hour  ago,  and  never  thinking  1  should  stumole 
over  an  old  friend  the  first  step. " 

**  Then  you  haven't  heard— but  of  course  you  haven't.*' 

*'  Of  course,  if  you  say  so.     What  is  it?" 

**  Your  wife—" 

Gilbert  Varneck's  hand  closed  convulsively  over  that  of  the 
lawyer. 

**  My  wife!  For  God's  sake,  do  you  know  anything  of  my 
wife?" 

"Everything,  and  everything  good,"  said  the  lawyer,  tri- 
umphantly. **  We  hunted  hor  up — your  mother  and  me — 
and  now  she  is  safely  domesticated  at  Glen  Gower,  with  her 
daughter.  Gilbert,  my  boy,  the  old  mother  is  dying  for  one 
sight  of  her  lost  son." 

But  Gilbert  Varneck  had  staggered  back  against  a  lamp- 
post, white  and  faint  as  a  swooning  woman. 

"Thank  God!" 

His  heart  cried  "  thank  God!"  but  his  lips  were  dumb. 

**  Come,  come,  my  lad!"  the  old  lawyer  said,  slapping  him 
cheerily  on  the  back;  "  good  news  shouldn't  knock  a  big 
fellow  like  you  over  in  this  way.  And,  bless  my  soul,  what  a 
big  fellow  you've  got  to  be!  And  that  wife  of  yours — 'pon 
my  word,  Gilbert,  she's  more  like  a  black-eyed  sultana  than 
an  every-day  Christian.  And  the  little  daughter — bright  as  a 
rosebud  and  plump  as  a  peach!  They're  a  credit  to  you, 
Gilbert,  my  boy,  both  of  them.  But  we  can't  talk  in  the 
street;  come  along  to  my  office  and  I'll  telegraph  to  the 
mother  at  once." 

^*  Au  revoir,  mon  colonel!^*  cried  Captain  Dandin,  touch- 
ing his  hat     **  1  reserve  my  congratulations  until  later." 

He  sauntered  away  humming  an  air;  and  Mr.  Gilmer, 
hailing  a  Fulton  Ferry  stage,  dragged  his  stupefied  companion 
along  with  him,  and  disappeared. 

Captain  Dandin  made  his  way  to  his  hotel,  humming  an 
opera  air  all  the  way,  but  thinking — thinking. 

**  Some  men  fall  on  their  feet  like  cats,"  he  thought;  "  our 
big,  brown,  blundering  friend,  the  Indian  colonel,  appears  to 
be  one  of  them.  So  mamma  is  reconciled,  and  our  angel  wife 
has  gone  to  Glen  Gower — the  ancestral  home,  no  doubt. 
Well,  mon  ami,  1  shall  go  to  the  ancestral  home,  likewise, 
and  I  think  it  extremely  likely  I  shall  hear  something  from 

Eretty  Eleanor  I  want  very  much  to  hear.     She  was  a  soft- 
eaded,  soft-hearted,  sentimental  little  simpleton  in  the  days 
gone  by;  as  insipid  as  a  mug  of  milk  and  water,  and  no  dooM 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    GOWER. 


39 


: 


f; 


I  shall  find  her  still  unchanged.  If  my  spirited  Adelia  hears 
of  her  good  fortune,  my  spirited  Adelia  will  be  pretty  safe  to 
make  known  her  whereabouts  and  necessities,  and  share  that 
good  fortune.  And  let  me  once  cross  her  path — let  me  meet 
her  face  to  face,  and  if  ever  woman  had  reason  to  curse  the 
hour  of  her  birth,  Adelia  Lyon  shall  curse  hers.  1  have  come 
all  the  way  from  Spain  to  hunt  her  down,  and  when  th« 
merciless  avenger  crosses  her  path,  then  let  her  beware  T' 


CHAPTER  X. 


FACE    TO     FACE. 


It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  September — a  glowing, 
sunlit  afternoon,  the  air  opaque  with  amber  mist,  as  though 
the  radiant  arch  rained  impalpable  gold  dust,  and  Glen  Gower 
was  out  in  its  brightest  and  best. 

Gorgeous  autumn  flowers  bloomed  brilliant  in  the  long, 
sunny  pleasaunce;  the  gold-fish  flashed  in  their  crystal  ponds 
like  moving  diamonds;  and  the  fountains  sparkled,  and  the 
trees  waved,  and  the  birds  sung,  and  all  was  sunshine  and 
jubilation;  for,  before  the  glorious  sun  set,  the  long-lost  heir 
— the  last  of  the  Varnecks — would  stand  once  more  in  his 
native  halls. 

Up  in  her  own  room  the  expectant  bride  awaited  her  bride- 
groom, robed  in  spotless  white.  But  the  face  that  gleamed 
on  Eleanor  Varneck  from  out  the  lofty  mirror  was  whiter 
than  the  dress  she  wore — more  rigid  than  marble.  The  great, 
dark  eyes  shone  with  somber  luster,  and  the  dusky  circles  be- 
neath them  told  of  sleepless  nights  and  anxious  days. 

The  rich,  black  hair  formed  a  queenly  crown  around  the 
stately  head,  and  ja  cluster  of  white  water-lilies,  nestling  in 
the  foamy  lace  of  her  corsage,  formed  her  only  ornament. 

"  She  was  fond  of  white,  and  wore  it  oftener  than  anything 
else,"  she  thought.  **  I  will  do  my  best;  1  will  struggle  to 
the  bitter  end.  Jf  the  worst  comes,  there  is  death.  Oh,  great 
Heaven!  what  a  lost  and  guilty  wretch  I  am!  How  will  1  ever 
dare  to  die  when  my  time  comes?'' 

She  covered  her  white  face  with  both  hands,  and  slid  down 
on  her  knees,  lying  against  the  marble  dressing-table  as  if  she 
never  cared  to  rise  again. 

**  Oh!"  she  thought,  with  a  dreary  groan,  **  what  happy 
women  there  are  in  the  world,  loving  and  belov^ed,  whose  lives 
are  fair,  white  pages  for  all  the  earth  to  read!  And  I,  steeped 
to  th«  very  lips  in  crime^what  a  blaok  and  shameful  reoonji 


60 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


liea  behind  me!  And  now  I  stand  in  my  dead  sister's  place, 
and  deceive  a  loving  mother  and  a  trusting  husband.  I  won- 
der the  ghost  of  Eleanor  Lyon  does  not  rise  from  the  grave  to 
destroy  me.'" 

She  lay  there  while  the  afternoon  sun  wore  low,  and  the 
amber  light  deepened,  and  the  western  sky  was  one  blaze  of 
gold  and  crimson.  When  she  lifted  her  head  her  face  looked 
worn  and  haggard,  and  unutterably  weary. 

**  The  wretched  play  must  be  played  out."  she  said,  with  a 
long,  heavy  sigh.  *'  Now  for  more  lies,  more  shameful  de- 
ception! 1  must  make  madame  see  with  my  eyes,  think  with 
my  thoughts;  and  the  time  has  come.  Gilbert  Varneck  will 
be  here  in  an  hour. " 

She  left  the  chamber,  glided  to  madame's,  and  took  a  low 
stool  at  her  feet.  And  while  the  September  sun  dropped  lower 
and  lower  in  the  radiant  sky,  the  younger  woman  talked  and 
the  elder  woman  listened. 

4c  %  9iC  >|c  >|c  %  l|l 

Through  that  golden  haze,  that  was  like  a  glimpse  of  the 
glory  of  heaven,  drove  two  men  in  a  gig  from  the  railway 
station.  Swelling  fields  and  fragrant  forests  were  on  every 
hand,  and  Captain  Dandin  smoked  his  cigar  and  eyed  the 
prospect,  while  Colonel  Varneck  drove  along  through  a  whirl- 
mg  cloud  of  dust. 

Both  men  were  very  silent,  the  colonel  too  full  of  his  intense 
happiness  for  words  or  smiles,  and  Captain  Dandin  very  well 
content  to  be  left  to  his  own  ruminations. 

They  came  in  sight  of  Glen  Gower,  gilded  and  glorified  in 
the  sunset — lawns  and  glades,  and  garden  and  avenue  beau- 
tiful as  summer  and  sunshine  could  make  them,  and  far  be- 
yond, bounding  the  view,  the  luminous  waters  of  the  bay. 

**  This  is  home!*'  said  Gilbert  Varneck,  his  deep  eyes  filling 
with  joy. 

**  And,  by  Jupiter  Tonans,  a  home  to  sigh  for,  to  die  for!" 
cried  the  captain.  **  And  you  gave  up  all  this  for  two  black 
eyes  and  a  pretty  face!" 

**  Who  told  you  she  had  black  eyes?"  said  Colonel  Varneck. 
**  I  never  did." 

"  I  took  it  for  granted,  then,"  replied  the  captain,  coolly. 
**  You  fair  men — not  that  you're  over  and  above  fair  now, 
after  eight  years'  exposure  to  a  broiling  tropic  sun — always  go 
mad  for  dusky  eyes  and  tarry  tresses.  And,  lol  by  all  the 
godesses  in  Olympus,  yonder  she  stands!" 

Yes,  there,  radiant  on  the  terrace,  with  all  the  crimson  and 
the  sunset  dazzlins:  in  her  white  rob 


golden  glory 


flashing 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN"    GOWEB. 


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nack  in  her  great  dark  eyes  and  blue-black  hair,  stood 
Eleanor  Varneck,  making  a  luminous  picture  of  herselj 
against  a  background  of  dusky  ivy  and  climbing  roses. 

She  saw  them  come;  she  saw  them  stop;  she  saw  the  hand- 
some, sun-browned  soldier  leap  out,  with  a  face  glorified  by 
joy,  and  come  toward  her,  and  she  never  stirred. 

In  that  supreme  crisis  of  her  life  she  stood  as  still  and  rigid 
as  the  stone  pillar  which  she  grasped,  deathly  white,  waiting 
for  her  doom. 

*  Eleanor!" 

He  could  utter  but  the  narae;  his  voice  choked;  but  tw^ 
strong  arms  caught  her  in  their  grasp,  strained  her  to  a  throb* 
bing  heart  with  a  strain  that  seemed  to  merge  her  into  itself. 

*'  My  wife,  my  wife!  my  love,  my  darling!'* 

And  then  the  strong  voice  choked  once  more,  and  a  rain  of 
passionate,  husbandly  kisses  spoke  more  eloquently  than  words. 

She  never  moved,  she  never  spoke — if  her  life  had  depended 
upon  it  she  could  not.  She  returned  no  caress;  she  spoke  nc 
welcoming  word;  she  lay  cold  and  lifeless  as  marble  in  his  em- 
brace. 

*'  Eleanor!"  he  cried,  at  last,  "  have  you  no  word  of  love, 
or  welcome,  or  forgiveness?  Have  I  sinned  beyond  pardon? 
My  bride!  my  wife!  my  love!  look  up  and  speak  to  me!" 

She  lifted  her  head  slowly  and  looked  full  in  the  flushed, 
impassioned  face.  What  was  there  in  that  pale,  fixed  look, 
in  those  weird,  black  eyes,  that  made  him  recoil  as  if  a  hand 
of  iron  had  stricken  him  back? 

**  Eleanor!"  he  cried,  in  a  loud,  wild  voice  of  affright,  **ia 
this  really  you?" 

And  then  the  woman  was  roused;  that  eloquent  cry  awoke 
all  the  craft  and  cunning  in  her  treacherous  soul. 

**  Gilbert,  my  darling!  my  husband!  have  ten  years  changed 
me  so  much  as  that?" 

He  looked  at  her,  the  trouble,  the  fright,  not  quite  out  of 
his  face  yet. 

"  The  voice  is  the  same;  but  for  one  instant,  Eleanor,  as 
you  looked  at  me,  I  did  not  know  you.  Changed?  Yes, 
surely!  Strangely,  wonderfully  changed!  And  yet  the  same! 
Oh,  thank  God,  my  darling,  that  1  hold  you  in  my  arms  one© 
more!" 

"  And  our  mother,  Gilbert.     See — she  is  here!" 

Yes,  at  his  elbow.  She  gave  a  great  cry  of  motherly  joy, 
and  fell  into  the  open  arms. 

Her  claim  was  the  first  and  most  sacred. 

'*  Welcome  home,  Gilbert,  my  son,  my  soni' 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLBN    GOWER. 


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He  kissed  the  tear-wet  faoe  again  and  again. 

**  You,  at  least,  have  not  changed,  mother.  A  few  more 
white  hairs,  maybe,  but  my  own  handsome,  stately  mamma, 
all  the  same.  And  I — you  would  hardly  know  the  big,  sun- 
burned! soldier,  would  you?'' 

**  J  would  know  you  an^wLore,  my  darling  boy.  And  look, 
here  is  a  third  claimant  ior  your  kisses — Miss  Varneck,  of 
GlenGower." 

A  rosy  little  damsel,  all  white  muslin,  and  pink  ribbons, 
and  brown  ringlets,  hung  shyly  back,  smiling  and  blushing. 
Madame  drew  her  proudly  foi  ward. 

"  Look,  Gilbert;  my  granddaughter.' 

**  Ah!  1  don't  know  this  young  lady,"  the  Indian  colonel 
said.  *'  Come  here,  my  little  one,  nd  give  papa  a  kiss.  By 
Jove!  1  don't  recognize  myself  under  my  new  distinction. 
Who  is  she  liko,  Eleanor?  Not  a  look  of  you,  and  not  a  look 
of  the  Varnocks.     How  is  that?" 

**  I  can  not  pretend  to  say.  A  great  many  think  she  is  like 
the  Varnecka." 

**  1  don't  see  it,  then.     How  old  are  you,  dear?" 

"  Nine  years — papa!" 

She  hesitated  a  little  over  the  name.  A  father  was  as  great 
a  novelty  in  Miss  Eudora's  experience  as  a  daughter  was  in 
his.    But  she  repeated  her  lesson,  and  the  tall  colonel  laughed. 

**  Shall  we  go  in,  mother?  1  feel  so  bewildered  by  all  these 
new  sensations  that  I  hardly  know  whether  1  am  on  my  head 
or  my  heels.  The  whole  affair  is  like  a  chapter  in  a  novel,  or 
an  act  of  a  play. " 

**  Let  us  go  in,"  said  madame,  gravely^  **  I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say  to  you,  Gilbert." 

She  led  the  way.  He  drew  his  wife's  arm  through  his, 
took  his  little  giil  by  the  hand,  and  f  j^lowed  her. 

The  old  servants  ,vere  all  drawn  up  in  axray,  in  the  hallv 
and  a  welcome  cheer  rose  at  sight  of  their  beloved  young  mas- 
ter. 

Colonel  Varneck  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  the  dusky 
friends  of  his  boyhood,  and  proceeded  to  his  mother's  dresoing- 
room. 

*'  Let  Dora  remain,  Gilbert;  it  is  not  necessary  she  should 
enter." 

Little  Dora  bounded  off,  and  Gilbert  Yarneck,  wondering 
somewhat,  entered  and  closed  the  door.  He  kept  his  wife  be- 
side him,  his  arm  encircling  her  waist. 
^  '*  Well,  mother  mine,  1  await  yoi*r  oomu^andfi,^ 


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THE    HEIBE88    OP    GLEN    OOWER. 


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She  laid  both  hands  on  his  shoulders^  and  looked  smilingly 
In  his  eye& 

**  Gilbert,  I  want  you  to  celebrate  this  happy  day  by  a  new 
marriage. " 

**  Eh?''  cried  the  colonel,  with  a  blank  stare.  **  A  new 
marriage?  Why,  mother,  has  polygamy  been  introduced  into 
Maryland,  and  has  Lady  Hor tense  Eddersdale  come  over  from 
England  to  take  possession  of  me  by  force?  Eleanor,  what  do 
you  say  to  this?" 

'*  It  is  Eleanor's  proposal,"  said  Mme.  Varneck.  **  Ler 
conscience  is  uneasy  about  the  past  marriage.  She  thinks  be- 
cause contracted  by  you  under  an  assumed  name  that  it  is  not 
valid— that  Eudora's  claim  as  your  heiress  may,  by  and  by, 
come  to  be  disputed  on  this  ground.  In  short,  she  wishes  to 
be  married  to  Gilbert  Varneck  as  she  was  ten  years  ago  to 
Launcelot  Lauriston. " 

Colonel  Varneck  broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  tried  to  looK 
at  his  wife,  but  she  had  hidden  her  face  on  his  shoulder  and 
refused  to  lift  it 

"  My  foolish  Nelly!  What  a  baby  you  arc!  My  dear  girl, 
set  your  mind  at  rest;  no  one  will  ever  dispute  the  legality  of 
yt  ur  marriage  or  the  legitimacy  of  your  daughter." 

'*  But,  Gilbert,  she  wishes  it  so  much — she  has  conscientious 
scruples.     Respect  them." 


i( 


Oh,  by  all  means!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  jovially. 
**  I'll  marry  her  a  dozen  times  over,  if  she  likes!  A  wedding 
is  the  only  thing  wanting  to  complete  the  general  jubilatidn. 
8end  for  the  parson  and  let  us  be  made  happy  out  of  hand." 

*'  I  have  sent  for  him,"  his  mother  answered,  gravely; 
*'  but  pray,  Gilbert,  don't  treat  the  matter  in  this  spirit  of 
levity.  Mr.  Hurst  is  to  be  implicitly  trusted — I  explained  the 
whole  matter  to  him  in  a  note,  and  I  expect  him  every  in- 
stant." 

'*  And  you  will  be  bride-maid,  mother,  and  Dandin  will  be 
groomsman!  Oh,  by  the  bye,  where  is  Dandin?  I  forgot  all 
about  him.     I  must  go  and  hunt  him  up  at  once." 

*'  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Gilbert?" 

"  Of  my  friend  Captain  Dandin,  mother.  He  came  over 
w^'th  me  from  Erigland,  and  accompanied  me  here.  He  had 
a  claim  upon  my  confidence,  for  he  saved  my  life  on  one  occa- 
sion, and  he  knows  all.  Excuse  me  a  moment  while  I  go  look 
him  up." 

Colonel  Varneck  found  his  friend  in  the  garden.  Lefi  to 
himself  by  the  impetuouA  Indian  officer,  the  captain  had  sat 


64 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


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for  &  few  moments  staring  at  ibf<  white  vision  on  the  terrace, 
a  fixed,  petrified  gazer. 

•*  Heaven  on  earth!"  was  his  mental  ejaculation,  **  is  that 
Eleanor  Lyon  or  the  other  one?" 

He  sat  there  until  they  disappeared  into  the  house;  then 
he  leaped  from  the  carriage  and  oegan  pacing  excitedly  round 
and  round  the  fish-pond. 

**  I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  said — **  1  never  thought  of 
that  Twelve  years  ago  those  two  sisters  were  strikingly  alike 
in  height  and  complexion,  eyes  and  hair,  but  there  all  resem- 
blance ended.  No  one  by  any  possibility  could  have  mistaken 
one  for  the  other.  And  now —  Can  ten  years  have  trans- 
formed Eleanor  into  Adelia?  No!"  cried  the  captain,  shrilly 
and  sharply;  '*  it  is  something  worse  than  that — worse  than  1 
ever  thought." 

Round  and  round  he  went,  almost  dizzy  with  the  intensity 
of  his  own  thoughts.  Suddenly  he  struck  both  hands  sharply 
together. 

**  I  have  it!"  he  cried — "  the  birthmark  on  the  arm — the 
*  Black  Triangle,'  as  we  used  to  call  it.  If  it  be  as  1  suspect, 
yonder  woman  has  three  black  moles,  forming  a  triangle^  on 
the  inner  part  of  her  left  arm  above  the  wrist.  If  they  be  not 
there,  it  is  all  right — it  is  Eleanor.  Ah!  here  comes  the 
prodigal  son  in  search  of  his  Orestes!  Now  to  see  the  fatted 
oalf  killed,  and  to  get  a  peep  at  madame's  pretty  white  arm 
before  yonder  bright  sun  goes  down." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  EMERALD   SERPENT.' 

Colonel  Varneck  explained  his  wife's  scruples  to  his 
friend,  with  laughing  good  humor,  and  Captain  Dandin  list- 
ened with  grave  and  shrewd  attention. 

Seen  by  the  light  of  his  new  suspicion,  this  circumstance 
took  quite  a  different  coloring  to  that  it  wore  in  the  happy. 
Unsuspecting  mind  of  the  young  colonel.  He  laughed  to  him- 
self—a  sardonic,  inward  laugh. 

"So,"  he  thought,  **  Madame  Adelia — for  I  know  it  is 
Adelia — insists  upon  the  ceremony  before  starting.  Every- 
thing is  to  be  quite  proper  and  decorous,  and  a  wedding-ring 
and  an  ancient  name  is  to  make  an  honest  woman  of  her.  My 
lady  grows  particular  with  years— she  was  not  quite  so  fastid- 
ious at  sweet  sixteen." 

He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  his  friend  and  turned  willi 
lum  toward  the  houM. 


THI    HEIRESS    OF    OLBlf    QOWEB. 


68 


"*  1  give  you  joy,  my  colonel,"  he  said,  gayly.  **  Marry  her 
again,  of  course;  it  would  never  do  to  refuse  so  small  a  favor 
to  a  lady — and  to  such  a  lady!  I  give  you  my  word,  I  was 
perfectly  dazzled!  It  is  a  Juno,  it  is  a  Cleopatra — an  Eastern 
goddess!  And  here  comes  Monsieur  I'Abbe  to  tie  the  Oordiau 
knot.     Behold  the  stove-pipe  hat  and  the  white  choker!*' 

The  Reverened  Cyril  Hurst  rattled  up  in  his  gig  and  drew 
ia  beside  the  two  men. 

**Ten  thousand  welcomes  back!"  he  cried,  heartily,  hold« 
ing  out  his  hand.  **  1  knew  you  would  turn  up,  sooner  or 
later.  And  how  you  have  chaaged,  to  be  sure— ooarded  like 
a  patriarch,  and  so  big  and  brown!  Madame  has  told  me 
everything,  and  here  1  am,  to  marry  our  penitent  prodigal  to 
bis  own  wife. " 

A  servant  came  round  to  lead  away  his  horse,  and,  talking 
volubly,  Mr.  Harst  accompanied  them  into  the  house.  Colonel 
Varneck  presented  his  companion  and  led  the  way  into  the 
drawing-room. 

Madame  alone  was  waiting  there,  her  black  dress  exchanged 
for  one  of  silver  gray,  and  a  big  diamond  pin,  blazing  like  a 
sun,  on  her  breast.  She  came  forward  with  her  usual  stately 
grace  to  receive  her  son  and  his  companions,  welcomed  Cap- 
tain Dandin  graciously  to  Glen  Gower,  and  shook  hands  fa  mil* 
iarly  with  the  Reverend  Cyril. 

**  The  ceremony  will  take  place  immediately,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Gilbert,  Eleanor  is  waiting  for  you  upstairs.  Go 
lead  her  down.     In  fifteen  minutes  the  dinner-bell  will  ring.'* 

Colonel  Varneck  quitted  the  drawing-room  with  an  amused 
smile  on  his  face.  He  thought  the  whole  proceeding  silly  and 
unnecessary,  and  rather  got  up  for  effect,  but  he  was  very 
willing  to  be  the  lion  of  the  hour. 

He  found  his  wife  in  her  room,  robed  for  the  sacrifice.  The 
simple  white  muslin  dress  she  had  worn  all  the  afternoon  she 
still  retained,  but  over  it  was  thrown  a  veil  of  old  point,  that 
draped  her  from  head  to  foot.  Through  its  silvery  shimmer 
the  beautiful  face  looked  deathly  white. 

"Fair  as  a  lily  and  lovely  as  an  ani'^el!"  Gilbert  Varneck 
said,  kissing  her.  '*  I  expected  to  find  yen  prematurely  old 
and  faded;  and,  lo!  here  you  are,  ten  thousand  times  more 
beautiful  than  tLe  pretty  Eleanor  Lyon  oi  ten  long  years 
ago." 

She  clasped  her  hands  around  his  arm  and  looked  up  in  the 
handsome,  happy  face  with  strange,  solemn  earnestness. 

"  And  you  love  me  as  well?  Oh,  Gilbert,  tell  me  you  love 
me  as  well  as  the  girl-bride  you  wedded  ten  years  back  I" 


THE    HEir.ESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEE. 


''  ( 


'*  A  hundred  times  better,  my  precious  Nellyl"  he  an- 
dwered,  fervently — **a  hundred  thousand  times  better  I  Do 
you  think  those  years  of  sullering  and  parting  have  gone  for 
nothing?  Do  you  think  every  hour  of  absence  did  not  mako 
you  dearer?  Do  you  think  all  you  have  suflorod  through  me 
and  for  me  has  been  in  vain?  And,  then,  you  are  regally 
beautiful  now,  Nelly.  I  loft  a  pale  little  rosebud,  and  I  find 
a  radiant  rose.  Why,  my  darling,  if  you  were  a  beggar  maid 
and  I  were  a  King  Cophetua,  I  would  go  mad  for  love  of  you, 
and  make  you  my  queen  at  first  sight!" 

Her  face  dropped  on  his  breast;  her  white  arms  clasped  him 
close. 

**  It  will  atone — it  will  atone!"  she  murmured.  '*  Oh, 
Gilbert  Varneck,  I  will  love  you — 1  do  love  you!  I  will  be 
the  truest,  the  faithfulest,  the  most  loving  wife  man  ever  had  I 
1  will  make  you  happy  if  woman  can;  heart  and  soul,  1  will 
be  all  yours.  Come!*' — she  raised  her  head  with  a  look  of 
proud  defiance,  her  black  eyes  blazing,  her  cheeks  Hushed — 

they  await  us;  let  us  go  down. " 

He  drew  her  arm  within  his  and  led  her  down  the  sweeping 
oaken  stairs.  Surely  the  hour  of  this  woman's  triumph  had 
come!  All  she  had  plotted  for  and  schemed  for  was  hers; 
every  deep-laid  plan  had  succeeded.  In  ten  minutes  she  would 
be  the  proud,  and  happy,  and  exultant  wife  of  the  richest  and 
handsomest  man  in  the  State. 

'*  And  they  say  there  is  a  Providence  that  watches  over  good 
people!"  she  cried,  in  her  triumphant  heart.  '*  They  say 
there  is  retribution  for  the  wicked  even  in  this  life.  Bah!  the 
driveling  babble  of  old  women  and  hypocritical  parsons! 
Where  is  the  Providence  of  the  Varnecks  now?  Where  is  the 
retribution  for  all  the  crimes  of  my  life?" 

"Here!" 

It  was  the  first  word  she  heard  as  Gilbert  Varneck  threw 
open  the  drawing-room  door,  and  the  sound  of  the  voice  went 
through  her  heart  like  a  bolt  of  ice. 

She  turned  hastily  around  and  saw  a  gentleman — a  perfect 
stranger  to  her — talking  animatedly  to  Mr.  Hurst — a  pecul- 
iarly ugly  gentleman,  with  piercing  dark  eyes  and  no  nose. 

At  their  entrance  the  conversation  ceased.  The  gentleman 
with  the  dark  eyes  retreated  to  a  window,  and  the  clergyman 
smilingly  approached  the  bride  and  drew  forth  his  book. 

Madame  rose  and  placed  herself  beside  her  daughter-in*law^ 
and  the  colonel  called: 

**  Gome  here,  Dandin!" 

Captain  Dandin  approached^  and  again  the  bride  regarded 


' 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    «LEN    GOWER. 


e? 


him  with  a  lon^,  troubled  look.     What  did  that  voitc— wha:A 
did  those  piercing  eyes  recall?  '      ^^• 

Captain  Dandin  covertly  saw  that  look,  and  sniilwl  under 
the  shadow  of  his  beard. 

**  You  are  royally  beautiful,  madame/'  he  said  to  himself 
— **  a  mate  for  an  emperor,  liut  for  all  that  1  wouldn't  stand 
in  Gilbert  Varneck's  shoes  this  moment  for  a  kingdom." 

lie  glanced  furtively  at  the  left  arm.  It  was  bare  nearly  to 
the  shoulder,  and  glimmered  like  marble  through  the  silvery 
veil.  Just  above  the  wrist  it  was  clasped  by  a  superb  bracelet 
— a  serpent  with  gloaming  emerald  eyes  biting  its  own  tail. 
The  other  arm  was  quite  bare. 

The  ceremony  began — finished,  and  Eleanor  Lyon  was  again 
the  wife  of  Gilbert  Lauriston  Varneck. 

As  they  signed  their  names.  Captain  Dandin  looked  keenly 
at  the  bride's  signature.  Her  hand  had  shaken  a  little,  but 
the  clear,  sloping  Italian  characters  were  beautifully  formed* 
The  bridegroom  looked  at  it,  too. 

**  Have  you  been  taking  writing  lessons  of  late,  Nelly?"  he 
said.  **  This  elegant  chirography  is  not  much  like  the  round, 
funny  little  fist  you  used  to  write  lang  syne." 

Perhaps  the  bride  did  not  hear  the  remark.  She  was  being 
kissed  and  congratulated  by  mamma-in-law.  She  certainly 
did  not  reply. 

Captain  Dandin  wrung  the  hand  of  his  friend. 

*'  To  wish  you  happy  with  such  a  bride  is  superfluous,"  he 
said,  with  a  death's-head  smile.  "  Your  life  will  b«  one  long 
Elysium,  no  doubt;  and  yet,  as  it  is  the  thing  to  do,  I  wish 
you  every  blessing  that  such  a  marriage  deserves." 

He  pronounced  the  last  words  in  a  singularly  slow  and  dis- 
tinct voice,  looking  full  in  his  friend's  face. 

But  he  saw  the  bride  wheel  suddenly  round  and  stare  at 
him,  with  blank  consternation  in  every  features. 

"  Good  Heaven!"  she  thought,  **  who  is  this  horrible 
man?" 

Her  husband  answered  the  question.  He  drew  Dandin  for- 
ward and  presented  him  at  once. 

The  captain  bowed  profoundly,  and  mu'  nured  an  unin- 
telligible something  lost  in  the  clang  of  the  dinner-bell. 

The  little  group  adjourned  at  once  to  the  dining-room, 
where  the  long  table  flashed  and  glittered  under  the  great 
chandelier,  lighted  already,  for  the  luminous  dusk  of  the 
September  evening  had  come. 

The  curtains  were  undrawn,  and  the  windows  stood  ivide 
«f«n,  and  the  lawn,  and  garden,  and  waving  trees,  under  the 


68 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEIT    GOWEE. 


1:1 


m 


deep  blue  sky  and  tremulous  stars,  formed  a  picture  of  un- 
utterable twilight  beauty.  They  were  a  very  gay  little  party 
— every  one  was  in  exuberant  spirits;  but  Captain  Dandin  was 
the  life  and  soul  of  them  all. 

He  was  more  than  brilliant — he  flashed  with  delightful 
anecdotes,  bon  mots,  happy  sayings,  vivid  descriptions;  he 
kept  the  whole  party  literally  hanging  on  his  lips.  He  never 
r^aid  a  stupid  thing  and  he  never  made  a  blunder.  He  was 
'jharming. 

Mme.  Varneok  and  Mr.  Hurst  listened  in  wonder  and  ad- 
miration and  delight,  and  Colonel  Varneck  began  to  think  he 
had  never  done  justice  to  his  friend's  conversational  powera 
before.  As  for  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck,  she  listened  like  one  in 
a  dream. 

**  Where  have  I  heard  that  voice?  Where  have  I  seen  those 
eyes  and  that  wicked,  brilliant  smile?  Where  have  I  met  this 
man  before?" 

She  could  not  answer  the  question,  but  from  the  first  instant 
she  had  seen  and  heard  him,  a  mortal  dread  of  this  ptranger 
took  possession  of  her,  body  and  soul. 

Little  Dora  was  admitted  to  dt^tqert,  and  the  delightful  cap- 
tain took  her  on  his  knee  and  fraternised  with  her  at  once. 

*' Not  in  the  least  like  papa  or  mamma,''  he  said,  ''but 
frepth  and  sweet  as  a  little  moes-rose.  And  how  old  is  our 
little  Dora?" 

He  prattled  to  the  child  while  the  others  couversed,  and  be- 
hold! there  was  little  Dora  lisping  all  the  r.jory  of  her  child- 
hood, her  Lymeford  home,  and  old  Granny  Croak.  He  had 
asked  her  no  direct  questions,  but  he  got  the  rhole  history, 
end  then  she  vfSLS  gayly  pap"^  along  to  papa,  and  Captain 
Dandin  was  doing  the  charming  to  Dora's  mamma. 

Presently  the  ladies  retired,  and  the  gentlemen  drew  to- 
gether over  their  wine.  Captain  Dandin  drank  freely  of  those 
rare  old  ruby  and  amber  vintages;  but  his  wit  only  flashed  the 
brighter,  bis  capital  anecdotes  only  grew  the  more  laughable 
and  frequent,  and  the  death's-head  smile  the  more  bright  and 
incessant. 

Colonel  Varneck's  wife  was  seated  at  the  piano  when  they 
entered.  She  would  have  risen,  but  the  captain  crossed  over 
at  once. 

"  Pray  don't!"  he  said.  "  Charm  us  with  some  delightful 
music,  this  night  of  all  nights.  You  sing,  I  know.  Do  you 
sinf^  old  ballads?    Do  you  sing  *  Allan  Percy  '?" 

It  was  a  song  she  had  been  wont  to  sing  for  Gerald  Kosslyn 
^M  the  davs  scone  by — a  eong  she  had  never  sung  since.    Her 


THE    HEIKESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


69 


hands  dropped  heavily  on  the  keys,  ttnd  the  icy  terror  of  this 
man  clutched  her  heart  ^ike  a  mailed  hand. 
'*  You  slug  it,  I  ana  sure.     It  is  a  favorite  of  mine — always 
May  1  entreat  you  to  favor  me?" 


was. 

She  dared  not  refuse.  She  played  and-  sung  the  song 
mechanically,  and  all  the  time  she  felt  the  sinister  black  eyes 
piercing  her  very  soul. 

**Ah,  that  is  exquisite!  I  was  sure  you  sung  it!  Ten 
thousand  pardons— but  may  I  look  at  your  bracelet?" 

There  was  something  in  the  man's  horrible  vivacity — in  the 
airy  freedom  of  his  maimer — that  made  her  yield  involuntarily, 
in  spite  of  his  impertinence.  He  took  the  bracelet,  touching 
H  daintily,  and  examined  the  design. 

"  So  very  pretty!  Now,  1  have  a  daughter  in  Spain,  and  1 
should  like  to  send  her  one  like  this.  She  is  so  fond  of  orna- 
ments, dear  child!  1  am  going  to  New  York  to-morrow,  and 
1  will  have  a  duplicate  made.  Is  it  asking  too  much,  or  might 
I  entreat  you  to  unclasp  it,  and  let  me  examine  it  more 
closely?" 

The  dreadful  spell  of  the  man's  power  was  upon  her;  again 
she  obeyed  mechanically.  He  took  it,  scrutinized  it  closely, 
admired  it  enthusiastically,  and  turned  to  reclasp  it  with 
officious  gallantry. 

*'  An  exquisite  ornameit,  and  almost  fitted  for  such  an 
arm.  Permit  me  to  reclasp  it,  and  a  million  thanks,  dear 
lady,  for  your  gracious  condescension.  My  little  Fairy  shall 
be  made  happy  by  just  such  another,  and  to  you  she  will 
owe  it!'' 

He  reclasped  the  bracelet  There,  on  the  beautiful  arm, 
right  above  the  wrist,  was  the  Black  Triangle — the  three  little 
black  moles — close  together.  The  bracelet  hid  them  com- 
pletely. 

'*  And  here  comes  mon  mari!"  exclaimed  the  gay  captain, 
as  Gilbert  Yarneck  approached,  **  and  I  must  monopolize 
madame  no  longer.  Thrice  blessed  colonel,  I  resign  in  your 
favor!" 

The  fire  of  his  deadly  black  eyes  was  at  its  fiercest — the 
light  of  his  siniste"  smile  was  at  its  brightest.  Gilbert  Var- 
neck's  wife  leaned  heavily  against  the  piano,  cold  and  rigid  as 
death,  with  awful,  ^mutterable  fear.  And  Captain  Dandin 
sauntered  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  silvery 
beauty  of  the  starlit  night. 

**  You're  a  wonderful  woman,  my  handsome  Adelial  1 
could  almost  have  it  in  me  to  ft.ll  in  love  with  you  once  more, 
only  it  is  so  devilish  hard  to  rekindle  dead  ashes.     You're  a 


70 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWER. 


i 


h 


handsome  woman,  and  a  cleverer  woman  than  I  ever  gave  you 
credit  for;  and  you  have  played  your  little  game  with  a  con- 
summate skill  and  adroitness  that  might  have  done  honor  to 
Captain  Dandin  himself.  But  handsome  as  you  are  and 
clever  as  you  are,  you  are  yet  no  match  for  me!  You  may  de- 
ceive these  honest,  blundering  burghers.,  these  big,  stupid  In- 
dian colonels,  these  blue-blooded  mammas,  but  1  hold  you  in 
the  hollow  of  my  hand.  You're  mine,  body  and  soul,  Mrs. 
Gilbert  Varneck,  and  I'll  crush  you!  I'll  crush  you!  I'll 
crush  you!" 

CHAPTER  XII. 

CAPTAIK  DANDIN  TURNS  PHILANTHROPIST. 

Captain  Dandin  left  Glen  Gower,  but  not  the  day  after 
the  wedding.  He  lingered  a  week  or  two  in  those  pleasant 
pastures,  ingratiating  himself  with  madame  and  her  guests, 
smoking  his  cigar  among  the  tulips  and  dahlias,  and  lounging 
on  the  velvet  sofas  and  in  the  deep  window-seats,  and  talking 
brilliantly  right  and  left.  He  was  never  a  bore.  When  most 
delightful,  when  most  fascinating,  he  stole  away  and  **  left  his 
character  behind  him,"  and  those  who  remamed  vied  with 
each  other  in  singing  paeans  to  the  charming,  noseless  captain. 
Colonel  Varneck  began  to  discover  that  he  had  caged  a 
domestic  treasure.  Mrs.  Colonel  Varneck  alone  disliked  and 
distrusted  him,  and  some  inward  dread,  she  knew  not  what, 
made  her  keep  that  dislike  and  distrust  jealously  to  herself. 

It  was  the  evening  before  his  departure  North,  and  there 
was  a  dinner-party  at  the  house.  On  that  occasion  the  tiger 
showed  the  first  glimpse  of  its  claws  outside  their  velvet  sheath. 
The  conversation  turned  upon  a  recent  occurrence  in  Balti- 
more.    A  girl  had  tried  to  poison  a  recreant  lover  and  failed. 

**  Bah!"  Captain  Dandin  said,  **  she  was  a  fool.  Fools  in- 
variably fail.  And  poison,  too — the  weapon  of  the  weakest- 
witted  of  fools!  Of  all  the  contemptible  things  in  this  world, 
failure  in  those  sort  of  affairs  is  the  most  contemptible.  Now, 
I  remember  an  instance  where  a  girl  avenged  her  wrongs  in  the 
most  open  and  daring  manner,  and  afterward  eluded  the  vigil* 
ance  of  all  the  detectives  in  New  York.  It  was  ten  years 
ago." 

**  Let  us  hear  it,  Dandin,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  It  was  ten  years  ago,"  said  Captain  Dandin,  leisurely 
trifling  with  his  napkin,  *'  and  the  course  of  my  wandering 
life  chanced  to  bring  me  to  New  York  at  the  time.  I  mad« 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  fellow,  an  artist  by  profession. 


m^ 


J 


THE    HEIBEBS    OF  OLEN    GOWES. 


n 


;SJ'. 


poor  ad  a  ohnrch  mouse,  and  as  handsome  as  a  Greek  god. 
An  unprincipled  young  scoundrel,  no  doubt,  mauger  his 
beauty,  an  infidel  as  to  his  principles,  a  cynic,  a  sneerer,  a 
Voltairean.  E>  induced  a  very  pretty  young  girl  to  elope 
with  him — only  fifteen,  poor  child,  and  the  eldest  daughter  of 
a  clergyman.  He  taught  her  his  own  poisonous  doctrines, 
his  contempt  for  that  social  prejudice  called  matrimony.  She 
went  with  him,  in  a  word,  and  spent  two  years  wandering  with 
vr*  \  him  over  the  country,  starving  one  day  and  living  in  luxury 
the  next.     At  the  end  of  that  time  a  child  was  born." 

Captain  Dandin  made  a  pause  here  to  take  a  sip  from  hl^ 
!     wine-glass,  then  proceeded : 

**  I  told  you  he  was  an  unprincipled  scoundrel.  Long  be^ 
fore  the  expiration  of  these  two  years  he  was  heartily  tired  of 
his  luckless  companion.  He'  left  her  in  the  extremity  of  hei 
illness — left  her  m  the  loneliest  of  country  farm-houses,  to  die^ 
as  he  thought,  as  he  hoped.  He  fled  to  New  York,  leaving 
no  clew  behind  him  as  to  his  whereabouts.  There  he  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  lady,  an  heiress  and  belle,  ro^ 
mantle  and  silly  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  He  painted  hei 
portrait,  and  she  fell  madly  in  love  with  him.  My  Voltairean 
friend  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  let  such  a  chance  slip. 
His  contempt  for  marriage  did  not  extend  to  wealthy  heiresses. 
He  proposed,  was  accepted,  and  the  wedding-day  Vfaa  fixed." 

Captain  Dandin  raised  his  glass  again,  but  over  it  he  glance^ 
at  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck.  She  sat  directly  opposite  him,  be- 
side her  husband,  and  dead  and  in  her  coffin  she  would  neve; 
look  whiter  than  she  did  then. 

**  And  now  comes  the  romantic  and  tragic  part  of  my  story. 
The  poor,  deserted  girl,  left  to  her  fate,  did  not  die.  She  re^ 
covered  t6  swear  deadly  vengeance  against  her  betrayer.  She 
oame  to  New  York;  with  the  subtle  instinct  of  woman's  hatred, 
she  hunted  him  down.  Some  women  there  are  who  pine  away 
and  die,  silent  and  voiceless,  of  neglect.  She  was  of  a  fiercer 
sort — one  of  your  flashing-eyed,  raven-haired  heroines,  who 
are  ready  to  cut  your  throat  with  the  carving-knife,  or  walk 
over  burning  plowshares  for  your  sake,  according  as  you  use 
them.  She  discovered  the  night  appointed  for  the  marriage, 
aad  when  the  night  came  she  was  there. " 

There  was  another  breathless  pause.  Every  one  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  narrative  now. 

**  She  was  there,  crouching  outside  the  window,  with  a 
loaded  pistol, *'  pursued  the  narrator,  slowly.  **  The  bridal 
party  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  stood  before  the  minister 
of  God  to  be  made  man  and  wife.     The  marriage  ceremony 


72 


THE  hrirp:ss  of  glen  gower. 


'i 


concluded,  the  happy  bridegroom  turned  to  salute  the  blush- 
ing bride.    *  There  is  many  a  slip;'  there  was  a  flash,  a  report 

the  bridegroom  fell  forward,  shot  through  the  head.     Oh, 

you  must  all  have  read  the  account  1    The  unhappy  young 
man's  name  was  Gerald  Rosslyn." 

He  paused,  and  sipped  with  relish  at  his  wine.  But  over 
his  glass  he  looked  once  more  at  the  handsome  face  of  Gilbert 
Varneck's  wife.  Good  Heaven!  how  ghastly,  how  awfully 
corpse-like  that  rigid  face  was! 

**  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  **  and  what  became  of  the  still 
more  unfortunate  girl?" 

*'  That  is  the  best  of  it.  She  baffled  them  all,  by  Jove, 
and  escaped!  All  the  detectives  in  New  York  were  on  the 
track  of  the  murderer,  but  they  never  suspected  the  young 
woman  rho  lay  raving  madly  in  the  delirium  of  a  brain  fever 
in  one  of  the  hospitals. 

**  When  discovered,  it  was  too  late.  She  had  quitted  it, 
cured,  and,  under  an  assumed  name,  made  herself  thin  air. 
I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  but  she  is  alive  and  well  at  this 
present  moment,  and  the  wife,  T)erhaps,  of  a  wealthy  man. 
She  was  just  the  sort  of  woman  to  rise  fiercely  and  defy  fate, 
and  achieve  for  herself  a  rich  marrlfige.  But  the  friends  of 
Gerald  Eosslyn  are  still  on  her  trail,  and.,  let  her  be  wedded  to 
the  highest  and  mightiest  in  the  land,  ii  they  ever  find  her, 
they'll  hang  that  woman  as  high  as  Haman!" 

The  climax  of  the  captain's  story  was  suddenly  spoiled,  for 
old  Mme.  Varneck  rose  from  her  chair  w'th  a  cry. 

**  Eleanor!"  she  screamed.     *'  Gilbert,,  look  at  your  wife!" 

The  cry  was  not  an  instant  too  soon.  Eleanor  Varneck  fell 
heavily  on  her  husband's  breast  in  a  desA  swoon. 

All  was  commotion.  It  was  the  captain's  horrible  story — it 
was  the  heat — it  was  a  sudden  spasm — each  one  had  his  ovtrn 
conjecture. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all.  Colonel  Varneck  carried  her  upstairs 
to  her  chamber,  and  left  her  in  charge  of  his  mother  and 
Susie. 

Captain  Dandin  remained  two  days  longer  at  Glen  Gower, 
out  of  pure  politeness.  Mrs.  Varneck  was  too  ill  to  leave  her 
chamber.  She  had  been  wild  and  hysterical  ever  since  the 
dinner-party — not  confined  to  her  bed,  but  too  poorly  to  ap- 
pear down-stairs. 

On  the  third  day  she  was  reported  much  better,  and  on  the 
third  day  Captain* Dandin  left  for  the  North.  His  friend,  the 
colonel,  rode  with  him  to  the  station  and  saw  him  off. 

**  You  will  not  leave  the  country  without  visiting  us  again," 


'-'-; 


:3 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    GOWES. 


78 


I 


the  colonel  said,  hospitably;  **  and  when  you  return  your  stay 
must  be  longer  than  it  has  been  on  this  occasion. '' 

•*  Surely,  my  colonel,"  the  captain  cried,  vivaciously,  **  I 
have  no  other  intention.  Glen  Gower  is  a  little  heaven  below, 
and,  lest  I  should  never  see  the  big  heaven  above,  I  will  make 
the  most  of  my  entrance  into  the  terrestrial  paradise.  Adieu, 
mon  ami,  and  au  revoir  !  Take  good  care  of  your  charming 
wife!" 

As  the  "  resonant  steam  eagle  "  whirled  the  gallant  captain 
far  from  **  My  Maryland/'  his  thoughts,  like  the  thoughts  of 
a  true  friend,  were  ever  backward  with  those  he  left. 

**  *  There  is  a  destiny  which  shapes  our  ends,'  so  the  im- 
mortal William  says,  and  destiny  has  managed  my  little  game 
for  me,  on  this  occasion,  most  wonderfully.  To  think  that 
I  should  come  all  the  way  from  Spain  to  find  this  woman — 
prepared  to  hunt  high  and  low,  to  spend  money  like  water,  to 
be  subtle  as  a  serpent  and  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  voila!  I 
go  to  the  ancestral  home,  with  my  big  brown  colonel,  and  find 
my  bird  before  me  I  If  I  were  a  good  man,  1  should  say  it 
was  the  work  of  Providence;  not  being  a  good  man,  I  must 
conclude  that  his  Satanic  Majesty,  for  once  in  a  way,  is  dis- 
posed to  favor  his  own.  Ah,  she's  a  wonderful  woman!  With 
ner  for  my  wife,  I  might  defy  the  world!  As  it  is,  1  am  her 
foe  to  the  death.  And  la  petit%  too — who  is  the  little  girl? 
Has  old  Granny  Croak  tricked  the  trickster,  after  all?  I  must 
investigate. " 

Captain  Dandin  reached  New  York,  arranged  his  business 
there,  and  proceeded  to  Boston.  The  morning  bustle  of  the 
busy  city  was  just  beginning  as  the  noseless  captain  stepped 
from  the  depot,  valise  in  hand. 

**  Morning  *  Herald,'  sir?  *  Journal,'  sir?  Carry  your 
valise,  sir?" 

A  volley  of  such  shrill  cries  crackled  round  his  ears,  and  a 
dozen  eager  little  urchins  pressed  forward. 

"  Out  of  my  way,  you  swarm  of  locusts!"  cried  the  cap- 
tain. **  I  don't  want  you.  Yes,  I  do!  Here,  my  man,  let 
me  have  the  *  Herald,'  and  follow  me  to  the  Revere  with 
this." 

He  flung  his  valise  to  the  nearest,  and  the  urchin  pounced 
upon  it  in  triumph. 

**  Lauriston  is  always  in  luck  where  there's  a  quarter  to  be 
made,"  one  of  the  boys  said,  discontentedly.  '*  Come  on, 
fellows!     '  Journal,'  sir?    Mornin'  *  Herald  '?" 

The  keen  ear  of  th«  captain,  which  nothing  missed,  caught 
At  the  name  directly. 


74 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


,   I: 


< ; 


t 


**  Lauriston!'*  he  thought.  '*  That's  an  uncommon  name, 
and  a  very  familiar  one,  of  late.  I  didn't  expect  trt  meet  with 
it  in  a  newsboy/' 

He  turned  to  look  at  his  little  follower  for  the  first  time, 
and,  in  looking,  the  captain's  glittering  eyes  opened  to  their 
widest. 

'*  Thousand  thunders  I  My  friend  the  big  brown  colonel 
in  little!  Now,  what  in  the  name  of  all  that's  astounding, 
does  this  go  mean?    Halloo,  my  lad!  how  do  they  call  you?" 

*'  Sir?"  cried  the  boy,  brightly. 

He  was  a  pretty  little  fellow  of  nine  or  ten,  with  big,  blue, 
Saxon  eyes,  a  frank,  fair  face,  and  curling,  bright-brown  hair. 

*'  What's  your  name,  my  son?" 

"Launce  Lauriston,  sir." 

"Hey!"  cried  Captain  Dandin;  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
crowded  street  he  came  to  a  dead  lock,  absolutely  petrified. 

**  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  looking  surprised,  **  Launcelot 
Lauriston,  sir — Launce,  for  short." 

**  Sacre  Ueu .'"  exclaimed  Captain  Dandin,  bursting  into 
French,  "  as-tounding!  Launcelot  Lauriston!  and  the  living 
image  of  my  colonel!  What^  in  the  fiend's  name,  does  this 
mean?" 

The  bright  blue  eyes  of  the  boy  were  fixed  rather  alarmedly 
upon  the  gentleman  without  the  nose.  Master  Launce  Lauris- 
ton was  evidently  begianing  to  think  that  he  had  got  hold  of 
a  madnxin. 

But  the  cool  captain  was  not  one  to  lose  ix\^  sang-froid  toe 
long;  a  second,  and  he  was  pacing  vigorously'  along  to  hia 
hotel,  with  his  little  henchman  behind  him. 

'*  *  Here's  a  staggerer!'  in  the  language  of  the  immortal 
Dick  Swiveller,"  thought  the  captain.  "  What  mare's  nest 
have  I  hit  upon  now?  Am  I  destined  to  make  another  over- 
whelming discovery?  This  boy's  paternity  is  written  plainly 
in  his  face.  Little  Dora  is  not  the  colonel's  child,  and  some- 
where, in  the  scheme  of  the  universe,  a  child  of  his  should  ex- 
ist. Now,  what  if  my  blue-eyed  little  newsboy  turns  out  to 
be  the  heir  of  Glen  Gower?  By  Jupiter  Olympus,  my  fort- 
une's made!" 

They  reached  the  hotel.  The  captain  obtained  a  room,  and 
ordered  the  boy  to  follow  him  up  with  the  valise. 

He  had  obeyed,  doffing  his  cap,  and  staring  at  the  grandeur 
about  him  with  wide,  admiring  eyes. 

^  "  Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  said  the  captain.     **  Now 
sit  down.    Hoir  is  it  such  a  smart-looking  little  chap  as  you 


h 


r 


I 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


76 


into 


4 


i 


¥ 


can  find  nothing  better  to  do  than  selling  papers  and  carrying 
valises?'* 

Launce  Lauriston  shifted  his  cap,  looking  uneasily  at  the 
gentleman. 

"  1  go  to  school,  sir,"  he  said. 

**  Oh,  you  do,  do  you?  And  sell  the  papers  between  whiles. 
How  long  have  yon  lived  in  Boston?" 

**  Most  all  my  life  sir— ever  since  I  was  that  high,"  hold« 
ing  his  hand  about  six  iufihes  from  the  carpet. 

*'  You  weren't  born  hero,  then?" 

"  No,  sir.     I  was  born  in  New  York." 

**  Father  and  mother  alive?" 

"  Mother  is,  sir." 

**  And  your  father — dead,  eh?" 

**  1  don't  know,  sir.  He's  been  gone  a  long  time.  Mother 
thinks  he  must  be  dead.     He  went  away  before  I  was  born." 

"  Deserted  your  mother,  did  he?    A  villain,  no  doubt." 

**  No,  sir — oh,  no!  He  was  a  good  man  and  a  gentleman, 
bub  we  were  very  poor — at  least  father  and  mother  were — and 
so  he  went  away  in  a  whaler.  Perhaps  he's  drowned;  mother 
never  heard  of  him  since. " 

**  You*re  named  after  him,  I  take  it?" 

**  Yes,  sir.  He  called  himself  Launcelot  Lauriston;  but 
mother  sometimes  says  it  was  not  his  real  name." 

**  No?    What,  then,  was?" 

**  She  doesn't  know,  sir.  He  kept  it  a  secret.  He  was  a 
gentleman,  and  he  offended  his  friends  by  marrying  mother." 

**  Do  you  know  your  mother's  maiden  name,  my  lad?" 

**  Yes,  sir.     Eleanor  Lyon." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Even  the  stoical  captain  was 
almost  stunned. 

**  You  are  very  poor — ^you  and  your  mother?"  he  said,  after 
a  pause. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  not  so  poor  as  we  have  been.  Mother  gets 
plenty  of  sewing  now,  and  I  do  odd  jobs,  and  sell  papers 
morning  and  evening." 

**  You're  a  little  trump!"  said  Captain  Dandin,  patting  the 
curly  head;  "and  I've  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you.  Master 
Launcelot  Lauriston.  We  must  see  if  we  can  not  make  a 
man  of  you,  and  help  your  good  mother  along.  What's  your 
address?" 

The  lad  gave  it  readily,  with  the  frank  confidence  of  child* 
hood. 

The  captain  took  it  carefully  down. 

"  Tell  your  mother  that  a  gentleman — here's  my  card — ^has 


76 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


taken  a  fancy  to  your  bright  face,  and  is  goiug  lo  give  you  a 
rise  in  the  world.  Tell  her  I  will  call  this  evening  at  eight, 
and  have  a  talk  to  her  about  you.  Now  run  off;  I  must  Lot 
keep  you  late  fo^  schoc'/ 

He  p'-wgpd  a    ,  'g!^      al/'  oaglo  *nto  th  ^  hoy^ii  palm  and  held 
open  tht  door. 

"  Oh,  sir!"  ex^Liaima J  little  Launce,  in  wonder  and  delight 

"All  right,  my  man!     ^un  along.     Look  out  t'or  meat 

eight  this  evening.     I  don't  believe  we  will  let  you  sell  any 


more  papers 

*'  Thank 

«. 


you,  sir!"  his  whole  face  beaming  as  he  darted 
off.     "^  Oh,  what  ever  will  mothw  say?" 

Captain  Dandin,  left  alone,  paced  up  and  down  the  room, 
with  a  darkly  brooding  face. 

**  Great  Heaven!'*  he  thought,  **  what  a  wretch!  what  a 
monster!  what  a  devil  incarnate  that  woman  is!  Talk  of 
Jezebel — talk  of  Lucretia  Borgia — talk  of  all  the  fiends  in 
female  shape  that  ever  disgr?  fjd  humanity!  Where  will  you 
find  a  greater  fiend  than  th.s  woman?  Murderess,  advent- 
uress, liar,  I  knew  her  to  be;  but  this — this  last  most  horrible 
discovery  of  all!  Her  sister — Gilbert  Varneck's  lawful  wife — 
alive  and  well,  and  she  usurping  her  place!  Why,  burning  at 
the  stake — tearing  to  pieces  with  red-hot  pincers — would  be 
all  too  merciful  for  her.  Butl'll  wreak  double,  treble,  four- 
fold vengeance  upon  her;  I'll  wring  the  life-blood  out  of  her, 
drop  by  drop.  The  mercy  she  has  meted  to  others  shall  be 
measured  back  to  her  with  compound  interest." 

Oaptain  Dandin  descended  to  breakfast,  then  hastened 
about  the  business  which  had  brought  him  to  Boston. 

He  was  agent  for  a  Spanish  commercial  house,  and  spent  a 
rather  busy  day.  The  dusk  of  the  September  evening  was 
falling  over  the  city  as  he  left  the  hotel  and  took  his  way  to 
the  North  End. 

It  was  a  clouded,  overcast  evening,  with  a  chill,  easterly 
wind  and  a  slow,  penetrating  rain.  The  captain  shivered  in 
his  loose  overcoat,  hailed  a  hack,  and  was  rapidly  driven  to  his 
destination — a  shabby  street  in  a  shabby  quarter,"*  and  his 
number  brought  him  to  a  shabby  tenement  house. 

The  city  clocks  were  chiming  eight,  and  the  rain  began  to 
fall  fast  and  heavily  as  he  got  out  and  told  the  hackman  to 
wait. 

Inquiring  for  Mrs.  Lauriston,  he  was  shown  up  a  flight  of 
dark  stairs  and  to  a  door  on  the  right.  He  knocked,  and  it 
was  opened  at  once  by  the  boy  Launcelot 

*'  J  knew  you  would  come  I"  the  boy  exclaimed,  delightedly. 


1 
f, 


THF    HEIilESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


y 


**  Mother  thought  you  might  forget,  but  I  knevf  better. 
Come  right  in;  mother's  here.  Mother,  hero's  the  gentle- 
man!" 

Standing  that  one  instant  on  the  threshold.  Captain  Dan- 
din's  keen  blue  eyes  took  in  the  whole  picture. 

A  lamp  burned  on  the  pine  table  under  the  window;  a 
work-basket,  piled  high  with  muslin  fabrics,  stood  beside  it. 
The  floor  was  daintily  white,  covered  i'  'places  by  rag  mate; 
the  four  painted  chairs,  the  cheap  rocko.  t  little  cook-stove, 
the  few  books  on  shelves,  the  dresser  /it;  ts  common  delf, 
the  two  or  three  cheap  pictures  on  tV-  w  >ii8 — all  was  daintily  ^ 
pure  and  neat. 

A  door  opposite  that  by  which  ho  ^tood  led  into  a  tiny  bed- 
room, and,  standing  on  the  thresh  ae  saw  a  tall,  slender 
lady  with  a  pale,  calm  face  and  large,  dark  eyes — Colonel 
Varneck  of  Glen  Gower's  long-lost  wife. 


CHAFPER  XIII. 

CAPTAIN   DANDIN'S    GOOD   WORKS. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  while  the  lady  and  gentle- 
man regarded  each  other — only  momentary;  then  the  cool 
captain  took  the  initiative  in  his  usual  easy  manner.  Advanc- 
ing, hat  in  hand,  he  bowed  with  frank  courtesy. 

**  Mrs.  Lauriston,  1  know.    Permit  me — Captain  Dandin." 

**  Captain  Dandin  is  very  welcome.  Pray,  walk  in  and 
take  a  seat. " 

But  Mrs.  Lauriston's  tone  was  decidedly  cool.  She  ad- 
Tancod  and  took  a  chair  herself,  her  manner  perfectly  polite 
but  frigid.  How  pale  and  care-worn  the  beautiful  face  looked  I 
all  the  paler  for  contrast  with  her  mourning-dress  and  dead- 
black  hair. 

Captain  Dandin  understood  the  coolness  at  ocoe.  The  cruel 
world  had  long  ago  taught  Gilbert  Varneck 's  forsaken  wife 
the  bitter  lesson  of  distrust.  Tf  strange  gentlemen  throw  gold 
eagles  to  newsboys,  and  catechise  them,  and  take  a  violent  in- 
terest in  them  at  first  sight,  and  oflBciousIy  visit  them  at  their 
homes,  these  strange  gentlemen  are  to  be  suspected  of  some 
hidden,  sinister  design  in  the  background. 

It  is  only  on  the  stage  men  fling  their  purses  In  the  lap  of 
honest  poverty  out  of  pure  benevolence;  in  real  life  they  are 
apt  to  demand  from  honest  poverty  an  equivalent  for  every 
cen^'me. 

li'!n.  Lauriston  was  fully  aware  of  all  her  bright-faced  boy's 
1'.?'  lotions — no  one  better;  hut  she  did  doubt  a  little  thia 


78 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


yiolent  fancy  the  man  had  taken  to  him  at  first  sight.  Bo- 
Bides,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  those  glittering  black  eyes  of 
the  captain's  were  sinister,  and  his  brilliant  smile  sardonic; 
and  the  loss  of  his  nose  had  not  a  tendency  to  prepossess  man- 
kind the  more  in  his  favor. 

**  You  will  pardon  this  visit,  madame,"  the  captain  said, 
setting  himself  resolutely  to  combat  that  mistrust,  *'  and  you 
must  oelieve  me  when  I  tell  you  I  came  here  out  of  pure  in- 
terest in  your  boy.  You  doubt  my  motives,  I  can  see. 
Pear  lady,  why  deny  it,  since  it  is  perfectly  natural  and  right? 
I  am  an  eccentric  man,  no  doubt — a  creature  of  impulse;  and 
it  is  not  the  first  time  the  interesting  countenance  of  some 
little  street  boy  or  girl  has  caused  me  to  step  out  of  the  even 
tenor  of  my  way  to  aid  them.  Early  in  life  1,  too,  dear  lady, 
was  cast,  alone  and  friendless,  upon  the  world.  Ah,  what  a 
long  and  bitter  battle  it  was!  Shall  I  ever  forget  it,  or  shall 
I  ever  forget  to  assist  those  similarly  placed?  A  thousand 
times,  no!  And  there  is  the  making  of  a  noble  man,  a  great 
man,  in  your  son,  madame.  I  say  it,  though  he  hears  me. 
And  shall  1  not  assist  that  noble  nature  to  ase«rt  itself?  Shall 
a  conventional  scruple  hold  mo  back?  !No,  no!  I  am  not  a 
wealthy  man,  but  1  am  beyond  the  power  of  want.  I  am  a 
lonely  man,  with  but  few  interests  in  life — shall  I,  therefore, 
neglect  the  highest  and  grandest  of  all  human  interests — the 
aiding  my  fellow-creatures?    Once  more,  no!" 

Mrs.  Lauriston  listened  to  his  rapid  speech  in  bewilderment 
and  doubt.  Her  face  lighted  at  the  praise  of  her  son,  and  her 
hand  dropped  caressingly  on  the  clustering  chestnut  curls. 

**  Launce  is  a  good  boy,"  she  said,  **  a  very  good  boy,  and 
his  mother's  greatest  comfort. " 

**  1  am  sure  of  it,  and  I  am  also  sure  his  mother  will  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement.  If  1  find  an  oppor- 
tunity of  benefiting  him,  you  will  allow  him  to  avail  himself 
of  that  opportunity?" 

**  1  will  consent  to  nothing  that  separates  me  from  him," 
Mrs.  Lauriston  answered,  firmly.  **  He  is  all  I  have  left — I 
wHl  not  part  from  him." 

**  Nor  am  1  a  monster  to  ask  you  to  do  it.  No,  no;  we  will 
manage  better  than  that.  Let  me  turn  the  matter  over  for 
two  or  three  days;  before  the  end  of  that  period  we  will  come 
to  some  decision.  All  I  stipulate  for  is  that  you  will  not  stand 
in  the  way  of  his  advancement." 

is  scarcely  likely,  sir.     I  am  his  mother." 

id  ^et  mothers,  and  the  fondest  of  mothers,  often  fool* 


(* 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    QOWER. 


79 


>> 


ishly  stand  in  the  way  of  their  children's  advancement.  Have 
you  any  objection  to  quit  Boston,  madame?" 

Mrs.  Lauriston  looked  at  him  again  in  surprise  and  doubt 

**  Leave  Boston?"  she  repeated.  **  1  have  no  objection. 
But  why  should  I  leave  Boston?" 

**  Because  you  might  find  an  opportunity  to  establish  your- 
self in  some  small  business  in  a  country  village — a  fancy 
store  or  something  of  the  kind — much  more  easily  than  ia 
the  overcrowded  city.  And  it  would  be  better  for  the  boy. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  the  country?" 

**  On  the  contrary,  I  infinitely  prefer  th^  country." 

**  And  a  variety  store — a  fancy  store — would  meet  your 
Tiews?  It  would  be  easier  and  more  remunerative,  I  fancy, 
than  your  present  employment,"  with  a  glance  at  the  basket 
of  muslin. 

**  There  can  be  no  question  as  to  my  preferring  it.  But 
for  me  to  establish  myself  in  a  store  of  any  kind  is  simply  an 
impossibility. " 

'*  Perhaps — but  not  to  me.  With  your  permission  I  propose 
to  do  it." 

**  But,  sir—" 

**  Dear  lady,  not  a  word — not  one,  T  beg.  It  is  entirely  for 
the  boy's  sake.  It  is  a  loan  to  him,  to  be  repaid  with  interest 
in  the  time  to  come.  We  must  make  a  man  of  him.  My 
little  hero,  what  shall  we  make  of  you?" 

'*  A  doctor,  sir!"  cried  Launcelot,  with  bright  eagerness. 
**  I  want  to  be  a  doctor;  don't  I,  mother?" 

**  Then  a  doctor  it  shall  be!  Doctor  Lauriston  sounds  very 
well  indeed.  We  have  your  permission,  of  course,  dear  ma- 
dame?  Ah!  I  foresee  our  boy  is  going  to  be  one  of  the  first 
physicians  of  the  day!" 

**  But,  really.  Captain  Dandin,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lauriston, 
bewildered  by  the  energetic  rapidity  and  decision  of  her  visitor, 
'*  this  is  too  much!  You  overwhelm  me.  Consider,  we  are 
perfect  strangers  to  you.  What  claim  have  we  upon  vou, 
that  you  should  befriend  us  like  this?" 

**  The  claim  of  common  humanity,  dear  lady — a  claim  to 
which  my  ears,  my  heart,  my  purse  are  ever  open.  Ah!  cast 
away  these  doubts.  Believe,  for  once,  in  disinterested  gener- 
osity. Look,  then,  dear  lady — 1  am  from  Spain;  it  is  my 
home;  my  daughter  is  there,  no  older  than  this  brare  boyi 
and  to  Spain  I  return  in  a  few  short  weeks.  Who  knows  that 
I  may  ever  return?  Permit  me  to  make  two  hearts  happy  ere 
I  go.    Permit  me  to  place  this  boy  where  the  good  Uod  in- 


80 


THE    HEIKE88    OD'    GLEN    GOWEB. 


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tended  him  to  be  placed.  Remember  me  in  your  prayers;  I 
ask  no  more." 

Captain  Dandin  paused;  emotion  choked  him. 

Mrs.  Lauriston  looked  and  felt  remorseful  and  ashamed. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  her  ^(uest. 

**  Forgive  me,  sir,  and  accept  my  heartfelt  thanks.  1  am 
80  little  Hsod  to  kindness  that  1  do  not  rocoj;nize  it  when  w« 
meet.  My  life  has  been  a  vorv  hard  and  sorrowful  one.  I 
think  my  heart  would  have  broken  long  ago  if  it  were  not  for 
my  boy.^' 

*'He  told  me,"  the  captain  said,  gently,  **  your  husband 
deserted  you." 

*'  That  is  hardly  the  word,  sir.  It  was  no  willful  desertion. 
We  were  very  poor — miserably  poor — and  all  he  did,  my  poor 
darling,  was  for  the  best.  He  loved  mo  truly  and  well  The 
parting  was  as  hard  upon  him.  as  upon  me." 

**  And  that  is  many  years  ago?" 

*'  Over  nine  years  ago,  sir?    Before  my  son's  birth." 

*'  And  you  have  never  heard  of  him  since?" 

*'  Never  once — not  a  word,  not  a  line.  He  is  dead,  I 
know.  If  he  were  alive,  my  husband  would  have  returned  to 
me  ere  this." 

*'  Then  you  believe  in  him  and  trust  him  still,  in  spite  of 
years  of  silence  and  parting?" 

'*  As  1  believe  in  Heaven,  sir!  Nothing  on  this  earth  could 
shake  my  faith  in  my  lost  darling. " 

Captain  Dandin  looked  at  the  noble,  beautiful  lace,  all 
aglow  tvith  woman's  deepest,  purest  love. 

'*  He  called  her  his  angel,"  he  thought  **  He  was  right. 
Oh,  Gilbert  Varneck,  what  you  have  losti" 

*'  He  left  you  in  New  York,"  he  said;  "  so  your  boy  told 
me.     If  he  ever  returned  it  is  there  he  would  seek  you. " 

Mrs.  Lauriston  shook  her  head. 

**  I  have  ceased  to  hope.  My  Launcelot  is  dead.  If  he 
had  lived  to  return,  the  ends  of  the  earth  would  not  keep  us 
apart.  He  would  have  found  me.  No,  I  will  never  meet  my 
lost  husband  until  we  meet  in  heaven. " 

There  was  another  pause.  A  few  quiet  tears  fell.  Captain 
-Oandin's  silence  respected  them. 

**  You  must  have  found  it  a  hard  struggle  with  poverty, 
alone  and  ill,  in  that  vast  wilderness  of  stone  and  brick,  with 
a  helpless  babe  upon  your  hands.  But  yoa  had  your  own 
friends — ^your  relatives— no  doubt?" 

**  No,  sir;  I  was  quite  alone.  One  sister  I  had,  but  she  was 
worse  than  dead  to  me.    And  yet,  onoe  I  wrote  to  her.    I  had 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    QLEN    OOWER. 


81 


obtained  a  clew  to  her  whereabouts;  she  was  workitij^  as  a 
seamstress  in  the  country,  and  doing  very  well.  My  boy  was 
four  years  old  then.  1  ha(i  fallen  illof  typhus  fever,  and  waa 
pronounced  incurable  in  the  hospital.  Launce  was  taken  to 
an  orphun  asylum.  Dying,  as  I  thought,  I  wrote  to  Adelia; 
I  beggoil  hor  to  come  for  my  boy,  to  supply  my  place  to  him. 
I  told  her  my  whole  sad  story.  I  inclosed  my  husband's  ptct- 
uro,  my  wedding-ring,  my  marriage  certificate.  Sir,  I  never 
received  an  answer,  and  I  did  not  die.  Contrary  to  every  one's 
opinion,  I  recovered;  and  how  bitterly  I  have  regretted  the 
loss  of  my  only  treasures  is  known  but  to  Heaven  and  myself." 

**  You  say  you  told  your  sister  your  story,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, thoughtfully.     **  Then  she  did  not  know  it  before?" 

**  1  don't  know.  A  year  before  I  married  she  fled  from 
homo:  wo  never  met  after.  It  was  a  dark  and  shameful  story, 
hers,  and  she  was  as  dead  to  us  all.  I  never  mentioned  her 
name;  my  husband  never  knew  of  her  existence." 

Captain  Dandin  had  heard  all  he  wished  to  hear.  The 
proofs  the  false  wife  had  given,  and  which  had  hitherto  puz- 
zled him,  were  clear  as  day  now.  And  Gilbert  Varneck  could 
not  suspect  the  woman  he  had  wedded  at  Glen  Gower,  since 
he  had  never  known  his  wife  had  had  a  sister.  He  had  heard 
all  he  wanted  to  hear,  and  ho  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  It  grows  late.  It  is  time  I  departed."  He  arose  as  he 
spoke.  *' Dear  lady,  you  will  trust  me?  You  will  let  me 
help  our  Launcelot  if  1  can?" 

'*  Sir,  your  goodness  is  overpowering.  Whatever  you  can 
tdo  for  my  beloved  boy  I  accept  with  deepest  thanks." 

*'  Then  within  a  week  expect  me  again.  I  am  a  man  of 
raj  idity — a  man  of  action.     In  a  week  1  will  have  settled  my 

Elans.  Until  then,  madame,  adieu  I  Until  then,  my  little 
ero,  farewell!" 

He  shook  hands  with  the  mother,  pa£l.ed  the  latl's  curly 
head,  and  was  gone  like  a  flash.  Hi?  cab  was  still  \faiting; 
he  sprung  in,  gave  the  order,  **  The  Eevore/'  ^nd  was 
whirled  away. 

The  rain  beat  tempestuously  against  the  glass;  the  easterly 
wind  Bostonians  dread  so  much  whistled  shrilly  up  and  down 
the  empty  streets. 

Captain  Dandin  laughed  softly  to  himself  in  the  darkness — 
his  most  sardonic  laugh. 

*•  So!"  he  said;  **  that  little  game  is  won!  It  is  a  drawn 
battle  between  us,  my  tall,  fascinating  Mrs.  Varneck;  but  I 
think  the  clever  captain  will  come  off  conqueror.  That  pale, 
patient  face,  so  oalm,  so  earnest,  so  holy  in  its  wiiely  trnife 


o3 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEli    GOWER. 


.♦ 


t 


*Snd  motherly  love!  And  the  same  mother  bore  those  two 
/women;  the  same  breast  nourished  them — a  tigress  and  a 
dove.  And  a  bright,  hopeful  lad,  too!  Gilbert  Varneck  in 
miniature — his  paternity  written  in  every  feature  of  his  face. 
One  might  aid  those  two  for  the  sake  of  aiding  them.  My 
faith!  I  hardly  know  myself  in  my  new  character  of  benefac- 
tor of  the  human  species.'' 

And  while  the  cynical  captain  rattled  home  in  his  cab,  Mrs. 
Lauriston  knelt  with  her  boy  in  her  humble  room,  thanking 
the  Merciful  Giver  of  all  good  gifts,  and  praying  for  guidance 
in  her  future  course. 

The  week  passed  very  slowly  to  the  lonely  seamstress  and 
her  son.  With  every  passing  day  the  new  hope  grew  upon 
her,  and  the  longing  for  Captain  Dandin's  return  became  in- 
tense. But  he  did  not  disappoint  her.  On  the  last  day  of  the 
week  he  appeared. 

**  All  is  well,  dear  ladyl"  he  broke  out,  enthusiastically, 
kissing  her  hand,  "  and  as  we  most  wished  it  to  be.  The 
home  is  secured,  the  store  waiting,  the  country  and  the  sad 
sea  waves  all  in  the  bargain.  Dear  lady,  do  vou  know  Silver 
Shore?" 

"I  have  heard  of  it.  A  ^ ^terin^-place  five-and -twenty 
miles  from  the  ci'^y.'* 

"  Very  little  of  a  watering-place  as  yet — but  a  paradise  on 
earth.  Lovely  beach,  boundless  sea,  romuntic  cuves  and 
islands,  cool,  dark  woods,  picturesque  village  —  Rasselas's 
Ha;ipy  Valley!    There,  you  have  it!" 

He  flourished  both  hands  with  an  odd,  foreign  gesture,  as 
though  he  threw  the  village  at  her.     In  the  midst  of  her 
solicitude  Mrs.  Lauriston  could  not  forbear  kughing. 
.    "Well,  sir?'»  she  said. 

**  It  is  well,  madame — Vv^iy  well!  The  cottage  is  secured — 
such  a  cottage!  Climbing  roses,  green  blinds,  cabbage  gar- 
den, and  the  fancy  store  adjoining.  The  late  lady — the  late 
proprietress— has  gone  and  got  married;  consequently,  1  buy 
out  the  store,  the  business,  the  cottage,  the  good-will  of  all, 
at  once.  There,  madame,  it  awaits  you  and  your  boy.  Little 
doctor,  t\ccept  the  deed. " 

He  handed  the  boy  a  parchment  with  his  customary  flour- 
ish, and  little  Launce  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

**  But,  Captain  Band  in,"  Mrs.  Lauriston  interposed,  "  all 
this  must  have  cost  you  so  mucli.  And  we — ah!  1  fear  it  will 
be  a  long  time—" 

'*  Dear  lady,  not  a  word!  It  co3t  but  a  trifle — a  mere  song 
—nothing  at  all!    And  Doctor  Lauriston  w  ill  repay  me  with 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEK    GOWEB. 


PI 


interest  when  Doctor  Lauriston  exists.  There  is  a  capital 
school  there,  a  church— everything  charming.  Meantime,  it 
waits.     Will  you  move  to-duy?'' 

"  To-day!    Oh,  I—" 

**  To-morrow,  then — the  day  after?  You  must,  dear  lady! 
I  want  to  see  you  safely  established,  delightfully  settled,  be- 
fore I  quit  the  State— before  I  quit  the  country.  I  ;aay  never 
return,  you  know.     To-morrow,  then — or  the  day  after?" 

"To-morrow,  mother!"  cried  little  Launcelot.  "Oh. 
do— let  us  go  at  once!  I  never  was  in  the  country,  and  I 
never  saw  the  sea,  and  1  want  to  climb  trees  and  pick  berries, 
and  row  and  ride  and  swim.     Let  us  go  to-morrow!'* 

**  Let  us  go  to-morrow,"  nodded  the  captain — '*  to-mor- 
row, madame — to-morrow!" 

**  Very  well — to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Lauriston,  bewildered 
by  the  rapid  pair.  *'  1  dare  say  I  can  be  ready.  What  time 
are  we  to  start?" 

**  Two-fifty  train — Worcester  depot.  I'll  send  a  hack  for 
you  and  meet  you  at  the  station.  No  need  to  fetch  all  these," 
sweeping  his  arms  around  the  room;  "our  rustic  cottage  is 
furnished  ever  so  prettily — little  parlor,  little  kitchen,  little 
chambers,  and  little  shop.     Everything  beautiful!" 

"  Very  well,  sir;  I  will  endeavor  to  be  ready.  But  permit 
me  to  thank — " 

"  No,  no,  no!  and  again  and  again,  no!  No  thanks.  Be 
ready  when  the  carnage  calls,  and  be  happy  in  your  new 
home!  I  ask  no  more.  Until  to-morrow — madame  and 
little  doctor — farewell!" 

And  the  eccentric  captain  was  out  of  the  house  like  a  shot 

To-morrow  came — noon  came — two  o'clock— and  the  hack. 

Mrs.  Lauriston  was  quite  prepared.  She  and  her  son  en- 
tered the  vehicle  and  were  driven  to  the  depot.  The;  they 
found  the  brisk  captain  awaiting  them  \7ith  their  tickets. 

They  took  their  places,  the  bell  rung,  the  whistle  sounded, 
the  train  rushed  out  into  the  open  country,  and  the  city — w»H 
behind  them. 

Mrs.  Lauriston  eat  like  one  in  a  dream,  dazed  and  hope* 
lessly  bewildered.  She  could  not  realize  her  good  fortune. 
The  days  of  fairy  godmothers  were  past,  and  the  black-eyed, 
noseless  captasn  was'  not  handsome  enough  even  for  a  fairy 
godmother;  and  yet  this  adventure  was  very  like  a  modem 
edition  of  Cinderella. 

But  Silver  Shore  was  a  reality  —  beautiful,  rural  Silver 
Shore,  with  its  woods  and  saline  breezes,  its  smUit  sea^  its 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


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rich  green  meadows,  its  straggling,  pioturesqae  street,  its 
pretty  white  cottages,  and  its  waving  trees. 

They  reached  it  in  the  golden  middle  of  the  mellow  Septem- 
ber afternoon,  and  wallccd  straight  from  the  sandy  little  sta- 
tion to  their  own  white  cottage,  with  its  climbing  vines  and 
modest  little  shop. 

And  still  Mrs.  Lauriston  was  in  a  delicious  dream.  She 
saw  the  captain  open  the  door;  she  followed  him  through  the 
tiny  hall  into  the  cozy  little  parlor,  carpeted,  curtained,  and 
bright — into  the  snug  kitchen,  with  its  shining  stove  and  shin- 
ing tins — up  into  the  cool,  pure  chambers  (three,  as  small  and 
as  neat  as  bandboxes) — into  the  shop  (her  **  Fancy  Store"), 
its  shelves  and  windows  well  filled — out  into  the  cabbage  gar- 
den beyond;  and  still  the  vague,  delicious  dream  continued. 
It  could  not  be  real,  such  bliss  as  this. 

The  captain's  voluble  chatter,  Launce's  shouts  of  ecstasy 
counded  in  her  ear  like  the  drowsy  buzzing  of  the  bees  in  the 
swinging  roses. 

**I  will  awake  presently  in  my  close,  stuffy  little  Boston 
room  to  drudge  along  far  into  the  night,"  she  thought. 
**  This  bright  vision  of  country  peace  is  only  a  heavenly 
dream.'* 

The  captain  was  the  best  and  busiest  of  men.  He  flung 
wide  the  closed  shutters  and  let  in  golden  floods  of  summer 
sunlight  He  sent  Launce  for  sticks  to  the  woodshed  and 
started  a  fire  in  the  cook-stove,  made  him  set  on  the  tea- 
kettle, and  insisted  on  Mrs.  Lauriston  taking  off  her  things. 

"  And  do  the  honors  of  your  own  house,  dear  lady!''  he 
cried,  cheerily.  **  I  am  going  to  stay  for  tea.  Little  doctor, 
I  saw  a  grocery  up  the  street.  Run  there  and  fetch  us  new 
bread  and  country  butter,  and  sugar  and  tea  and  peaches  and 
cream.     Run!" 

He  thrust  a  note  into  his  hand  and  cent  him  flying  off. 

Still  in  that  dream,  Mrs.  Lauriston  found  the  pantry  and  the 
dishes,  spread  the  cloth,  set  the  table,  and  made  the  tea  when 
Launce  returned  ladened  with  parcels. 

They  all  sat  down  together  to  their  first  meal  in  the  Ar- 
cadian cottage — and  such  a  meal!  When  had  the  poor  seam- 
stress and  newsboy  eaten  anything  like  it? 

"  And  they  asked  me  at  the  store,  mother,  if  you  were  the 
new  milliner  from  Boston,  and  I  said  yes;  and  if  I  was  your 
son,  and  when  you  meant  to  open,  and  what  was  your  nama 
And,  mother,  he  said  if  you  only  did  half  as  well  as  Miss 
Hobbs,  you  would  make  your  fortune. " 

It  was  ft  delightful  first  meal,  with  the  bright  sea  spreac^iDg 


M 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    QLEK    GOWBB. 


85 


awaj  beyond  the  cabbage  garden,  and  the  swelling  meadows, 
and  the  sweet  country  breeze  faintly  rustling  the  roses. 

it  vras  delightful,  and  the  captain  was  loud  in  his  regrets 
when,  after  tea,  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  found  it  was  time 
to  go. 

**  It  is  Adam  leaving  Paradise,"  he  said,  pathetically,  **  and 
without  Eve.  Dear  lady,  I  go — neve?  to  return,  perhaps. 
Do  not  forget  me,  and  farewell!" 

She  tried  to  rouse  herself  and  say  something  appropriate, 
but  that  dream  still  held  her,  and  her  tongue  was  tied. 

'*  But  you  will  write  to  me — ^you  will  tell  me  always  how 
you  get  on,  and  the  little  doctor?  A  letter  to  this  address  will 
alwavs  reach  me.  Once  more,  adieu!  Kemember  Dandin 
and  be  happy." 

He  laid  an  envelope  on  the  table,  took  Mrs.  Lauriston's 
hand,  kissed  it,  embraced  the  boy,  and  departed  in  his  usual 
meteor-like  fashion. 

Little  Launce  lifted  the  envelope  when  he  was  out  of  sight, 
opened  it,  and  uttered  a  wild  shout;  for,  besides  the  address 
scrawled  on  the  back,  it  contained  bank-notes  to  the  amount 
of  two  hundred  dollars. 

"  Oh,  mother,  look  at  thifr— look  at  all  this  money!  We 
are  rich  for  life  now!" 

But  Mrs.  Lauriston  could  not  reply.  White  and  sick,  she 
lay  back  in  her  chair,  almost  fainting. 

"If  it  is  a  dream,"  the  pale  lips  murmured,  "ok,  God, 
grant  1  may  never  awake!" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  CALL  ON   GRANNY  CROAK. 

"  I  SOLD  her  for  gold — I  sold  her  I  and  she  wua  my  dead 
daughter's  only  child !" 

The  glory  of  the  September  sunset  poured  into  the  little 
•jfoom  where  the  dying  old  woman  lay,  and  kindled  into  super- 
nal radiance  the  shabby  chairs  and  table  and  bed,  and  the 
withered,  worn,  old  face. 

Tossmg  restlessly  among  the  pillows,  she  flung  her  arms 
wearily  about  and  moaned  her  incoherent  talk,  half  sleeping, 
half  waking. 

A  young  woman  sat  sewing  by  the  bedside,  with  the  level 
rays  of  the  amber  glory  gilding  her  coal-black  hair. 

"  My  only  child — my  only  child!'*  the  old  woman  moaned; 
**  and  I  sold  her  for  gold  I  I  promised  her  dead  mother  to 
take  care  of  her  always,  and  see  how  I  kept  my  word!" 


i 


86 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


The  young  girl  bent  over  her. 

**  Will  you  have  a  drink.  Granny  Croak?"  she  asked. 

**  Sold!  soldi  sold!"  was  Granny  Croak's  weary  cry.  '*  My 
little  Dora— my  dead  daughter's  only  child!" 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door, 

"  The  doctor  again,"  muttered  the  cirl,  as  she  arose  to  open 
it.  **  He  said  she  wouldn't  wear  the  night  through,  and 
that  he  would  come  back. " 

But  it  was  not  the  doctor.  It  was  a  gentleman  the  young 
person  had  never  seen  before — a  tall,  dark,  gentleman  with 
piercing  black  eyes  and  less  the  nose. 

"  Does  Granny  Croak  live  here?" 

"  Yes,  sir — to- day  she  does;  she  may  not  to-morrow." 

**  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  she  is  dj-ing." 

"  Dying?" 

'*  Yes,  sir.     There  she  is.     Look  for  yourself." 

The  nurse  threw  wide  the  door.  Captain  Dandin  strode 
across  the  room  and  stood  beside  the  dying  woman's  bed. 
The  hot  head  still  tossed;  the  restless  arms  still  flung  them- 
selves about;  the  half -delirious  tongue  still  babbled  on: 

"  1  sold  her  for  gold!  My  pretty  little  Dora!  I  sold  her 
to  the  veiled  lady,  and  she  was  my  dead  daughter's  only 
child  I" 

"  What  does  she  mean?"  asked  Captain  Dandin,  in  sur- 
prise. 

**  Oh,  she's  a  little  out  of  her  head  this  evening,"  the  young 
nurse  answered,  coolly,  **  and  she's  rambling  about  a  little 
girl,  Dora  Dal  ton,  that  used  to  live  with  her.  She  was  her 
grandchild,  I  believe,  and  an  orphan,  and  some  lady  adopted 
her.  It  weighs  on  granny  now,  it  seems.  She  talks  of  noth- 
ing else." 

**  JIow  long  ago  is  this?" 

**  Not  long — a  month  or  two.  Granny's  never  been  herself 
iiDc^^  She  broke  down  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  came  to  nurse 
hf>r.  SL«  may  bst  till  midnight — not  longer.  If  you  have 
anytii  ag  to  say  ia  her  you  had  better  say  it  at  once." 

'*  ]  \b,V'}  a  great  deal  to  say  to  her;  but  if  she  is  delirious, 
wL3r<t:  IS  tiiii  use?" 

' '  Oh,  she  is  half  asleep  now.  I  will  wake  her  up.  Granr^ 
— Granny  Croak,  wake  up!  Here's  a  gentleman  come  to  see 
you." 

The  dull  eyes  opened  and  went  wandering  aimlessly  about 

**  What  is  it,  Susan?"  she  feebly  asked. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    GOWEB. 


87 


"  Some  one  to  see  you,  granny — a  strange  gentleman. 
Here  he  is." 

Granny  Croak  looked  at  him,  stared  a  moment  incredu- 
lously,  gave  a  shrill  cry,  and  seized  his  arm. 

**  It  is  the  right  one — it  is  the  gentleman  I  want!  You  got 
the  right  one,  and  the  lady  came,  as  you  told  me  she  would, 
and  1  gave  her  Dora.  Oh,  tell  me — tell  me  if  you  know  any- 
thing of  Dora?" 

**  Now,  my  good  old  Granny  Croak,  don't  excite  yourself — 
she  is  safe  and  well.  As  for  you,  my  young  Ir.dy,"  turning 
to  the  nurse,  **  have  the  goodness  to  step  out  a  few  minutes. 
1  have  a  word  or  two  for  Madame  Croak's  private  ear." 

The  nurse,  Susan,  got  up  with  a  face  of  stoical  indifference 
and  walked  out  of  the  room.  Captain  Dandin  drew  a  chair 
close  to  the  bedside  and  sat  down. 

**  Now,  my  good  old  Granny  Croak,  don't  excite  yourself. 
It  is  not  necessary,  and  in  your  present  precarious  state, 
highly  dangerous.  It  is  about  your  little  Dora  I  have  come. 
I  saw  her  not  a  month  ago,  and  she  was  safe  and  well,  beauti- 
fully dressed,  and  happy  as  a  queen.  The  lady  thinks  she  is 
her  own  very  child,  and  cares  for  her  accordingly.  You  cou^i 
not  have  done  better  for  the  little  girl,  and  she  is  going  to  he 
a  great  heiress.    And  now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

**  It  was  just  as  you  said  it  would   be,"  replied  Qrcnny 


le  was  about,  a  year 

jie   down    handsOTne, 

r  away.     You  said  it 

t  some  day,  and  I  was 

off  some  other  child  of 

,  I  waited,  and  nobody 


Croak.     **  You  came  when  the  righ 

old,  and   you  paid  me — ah!   you  pai 

I'll  say  that  for  you — and  you  took 

was  like  the  mother  might  come  &tU 

not  to  tell  her  about  you,  but  to  pas 

the  same  age  upon  her  as  hers.     V  ei 

ever  came.     I  had  one  little  one  and  then  another  left  with 

me,  but  people  came  and  adopted  them  and  carried  them  off; 

and,  last  of  all^  my  daughter  died  in  Jersey  City,  and  left  little 

Dora.     She  was  a  widow,  my  daughter,  Ellen  Daltou,  and 

when  she  was  buried  I  took  little  Dora.     It  was  four  years 

after  you  took  Fairy,  and  Dora  was  three  and  a  half  years  old. 

Well,  sir,  a  little  better  nor  two  moir  js  ago  didn't  that  lady 

come  for  her  child!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Dandin.     "  Go  on." 

**  You  might  ha'  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,"  pur- 
sued the  old  woman.     "  I  was  that  took  aback  I  didn't  know 


to  service  and  work  all  her  lite.     Why  shouldn't  I  pass  he* 


88 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEK    GOWfiR. 


..* ; » 


'I 

I 


ofiE  on  the  lady  as  her  owu  child?  Dora  was  nearly  a  year 
younger,  but  she  would  never  know  that;  and  she  hadn't  suck 
big  black  eyes  and  hair  as  Fairy;  but  she'd  never  seen  Fairy 
from  a  baby,  and  ciiildren  do  change  so.  Sir,  I  did  it!  I 
called  up  Dora  and  told  the  lady  she  was  her  daughter.  I 
don't  think  she  believed  me  at  first — I  think  she  was  mis- 
trustful all  through,  but  she  took  her.  She  gave  me  the 
money  then,  and  she  sent  me  more  from  New  York.  I  have 
it  all  yet;  I  couldn't  touch  a  cent  of  it.  It  seemed  like  blood- 
money- -the  price  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood!" 

**  Did  tilt:  lady  write  you  a  letter  from  New  York?" 

**  Just  a  few  lines,  sir — to  say  she  sent  me  the  money,  and 
that  she  would  send  me  no  more. " 

"  Have  you  got  that  note?"  asked  Dandin. 

**  Yes,  sir;  it's  locked  up  with  my  money." 

"Well,  then.  Granny  Croak,  see  here:  you  must  give  me 
that  note,  and  you  must  make  a  dying  deposition,  on  oath,  of 
this  story.  In  return,  1  will  tell  you  all  the  news  of  your 
granddaughter.  You  v/ill  agree  to  this?  You  will  let  me 
write  out  this  story  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  and  you  will 
sign  it?" 

'*  Will  it  d^  any  harm  to  Dora?" 

"  Certainly  not.  It  will  do  no  harm  to  any  one.  Let  us 
begin  at  once.     Here,  nurse,  I  say,  halloo!" 

The  nurse  reappeared. 

**  Get  us  pen  and  mk,  and  stay  in  the  room.  We  will  want 
some  one  else,  too.     Who  can  we  get?" 

**  The  doctor  is  at  the  door,  sir." 

"  Is  he?    Then  I'll  go  and  explain  before  he  comes  up." 

Captain  Dandin  darted  from  the  room  and  waylaid  the  doc- 
tor in  the  passage.  Ten  minutes  sufficed  for  his  explanation; 
them  both  re-entered  together.  Pen,  ink,  and  paper  were 
placed  upon  the  table.  The  captain  drew  it  close  to  the  bed- 
side, sat  down,  and  began  rapidly  to  indite  the  dying  woman's 
deposition. 

He  read  it  over  aloud  when  finished,  and  the  feeble  old 
fingers  of  Granny  Croak  made  their  tottering  mark  on  the 
paper.  Then  the  unsigned  note  from  New  York  was  handed 
to  him,  and  he  folded  both  up  carefully,  sealed  them,  and 
placed  them  away  in  an  inner  pocket. 

He  had  accomplished  his  mission.  The  toils  were  closing 
fast  around  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck. 

Captain  Dandin  shared  the  nurse's  vigil  that  night.  As  the 
midnight  hour  tolled  from  the  steeples  of  Lymef ard,  the  spirit 
of  Granny  Croak  soared  away  from  all  things  earthly. 


.^: 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWEB. 


89  V 


Early  next  morDing  the  first  train  bore  the  captain  to 
Jeisey  City,  the  precious  manuscript  in  his  inside  pocket. 
He  breakfasted  there  and  started  for  New  York — ^he  firs^ 
stage  of  his  journey  back  to  Glen  Gower. 

'*  1  hold  you  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand  now,  my  lady  I"  the 
captain  said,  with  a  diabolical  inward  laugh  of  triumph;  **  and 
I'll  crush  you,  body  and  soul — crush  you  in  the  filth  under 
my  feet  as  1  would  a  scorpion!  1*11  have  no  mercy.  All  you 
have  made  others  sutler,  you  shall  suffer  tenfold.  Every  slow 
torture  you  have  ever  inflicted  shall  be  paid  back  until  I've 
ground  the  life  out  of  you!  Til  have  you  praying  for  death, 
imd  not  daring  to  die!  And  FU  begin  as  soon  as  I  reach  Glen 
Gower  I" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MRS.    VARNEC.        MYSTERT. 

While  Captain  Dandin  played  thu  Good  Samaritan  in  Bos- 
ton, life  went  very  quietly  at  Glen  Gower.  Mrs.  Gilbert  Var- 
neck  was  quite  well  again — a  trifle  pale  and  nervous  still,  but 
able  to  join  the  family  as  usual. 

**  You  don't  look  like  a  nervous  subject,  Eleanor,"  her 
husband  said,  thoughtfully,  '*  and  you  never  used  to  be.  How 
is  it?  What  made  you  faint — the  heat,  or  Dandin's  raw-head- 
and-bloody-bones  story?" 

Mrs.  Varneck  was  standing  by  her  chamber  window,  look- 
ing out  at  the  sunlit  fields,  and  the  white  cashmere  robe  she 
wore  was  not  more  colorless  than  her  face. 

**  The  heat,  I  suppose.  Why  should  Captain  Dandin's 
ghastly  tales  afiEect  me?  I  have  suffered  enough  and  endured 
enough  in  the  past  nine  years  to  make  me  nervous.  Heaven 
knows!    By  the  bye,  when  did  your  friend  leave?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  studied  caielessness,  never  look- 
ing round. 

'*  A  week  ago,"  the  colonel  replied.  "  He  remained  three 
days  longer  than  he  had  intended,  out  of  solicitude  for  you. 
He  was  terribly  alarmed  lest  his  sensational  story  had  caused 
your  fainting  fit." 

**  Captain  Dandin  thinks  too  highly  of  his  power  as  a  nar- 
rator," Mrs.  Varneck  said,  coldly.  **  1  don't  like  that 
man.     Is  he  coming  back?" 

'*  Yes,  my  dear,  in  a  week  or  two.  And  you  really  don't 
like  him,  Eleanor?  Now,  that's  odd!  Most  people  like  the 
talkative  captain.  It's  rather  unlucky,  too;  for  we  must  be 
civil,  wiUy-nillj.     He  saved  my  lile  in  Spain,  you  know. 


»f 


90 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


i 


1 


1! 


mm 


rrf"'^^ 


/ 


/ 


•*  So  I  haye  heard.     How  was  it?" 

*'  Oh,  we  were  attacked  by  brigands,  one  dark,  wet  night, 
between  Barcelona  and  Valencia,  and  the  captain  fought  like 
a  lion.  Hy  Jove  I  he  has  the  ferocity  of  a  tiger  when  his  blood 
is  up.  He  laid  about  him  right  and  left,  like  a  madman;  tore 
off  a  big,  black-bearded  bandit  who  had  me  by  the  throat,  and 
made  mince-meat  of  him — split  his  skull  to  the  chin.  It  was 
hot  work  while  it  lasted,  and  I  lost  more  blood  than  I  could 
conveniently  spare.  Two  of  our  traveling  companions  were 
killed,  and  the  captain  himself  got  two  or  three  stiletto  stabs. 
We  got  to  Valencia  somehow,  and  Dandin  took  me  to  his  own 
quarters,  had  me  nursed  and  brought  round  by  an  old  woman 
who  kept  his  house  and  took  care  of  his  daughter.  You  see, 
my  dear,  1  owe  him  a  debt  of  gratitude  not  easily  repaid." 

*'  Then  Captain  Dandin  is  a  married  man?" 

**  So  it  appears;  but  he  lost  his  wife  many  years  ago.  If 
ihe  resembled  her  daughter,  she  must  have  been  a  beauty 
born.  The  loveliest  little  cherub  you  over  beheld,  Eleanor, 
with  magnificent  Spanish  eyes,  and  black  ringlets  down  to 
her  waist  r' 

Ml  .  Varneck  shrugged  her  dainty  shoulders. 

**  It  is  unfortunate  her  father  does  not  share  her  8ui)er- 
abundant  good  looks.  I  thouf'ht  when  I  saw  him  first,  and  I 
think  still,  he  is  the  most  hie' ecus  object  I  ever  beheld.  I 
don't  like  him,  Gilbert,  and  I  Lope  you  will  get  rid  of  him  as 
soon  as  may  be. " 

She  passed  out  of  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and  her  husband 
looked  after  her  with  a  strangely  troubled  face. 

**  Is  that  Eleanor — my  gentle,  tender-hearted  Eleanor,  who 
would  once  have  cherished  a  gorilla  if  it  had  befriended  me — 
the  woman  who  made  that  unfeeling  speech?  Heaven  forgive 
me,  but  there  are  times  when  1  think  it  would  almost  be  better 
had  I  never  found  my  wife.  Those  nine  long  years  of  poverty 
and  suffering  have  changed  her  as  surely  woman  never 
changed  before.  I  left  the  gentlest,  sweetest,  most  tender- 
hearted little  dove  that  ever  fluttered  timidly  to  man's  heart 
for  shelter,  and  I  find  a  radiant  bird  of  paradise  in  her  stead — 
far  more  beautiful,  perhaps,  but  not  haif  so  lovely — cold  and 
worldly,  and  bitter  d  hard.  No;  my  darling  is  dead  and 
buried  in  my  heart,  ■  my  brilliant  wifs  has  risen  from  her 
ashes!  And  yet,  w^  an  ungenerous  brute  I  am!  for  she 
loves  me  »ie  otedlj  ^mbsionately.  I  dare  say  the  faul"  is  in 
myself;  th-j  first  freBhuess  and  spring-time  of  youth  in  gone, 
and  I  have  gr-^vn  flinty  and  fluspicious  and  cold-hearted  from 
rough  knocking  around  the  world.    Yes,  I  have  grown  a  cyn- 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


^ 


ight, 
;like 
)Iood 
tore 
and 
was 
could 
were 
tabs, 
own 
loman 
see. 


ical,  suspicious  wretch,  and  1  have  looked  at  my  beautiful  wife 
before  now  and  wondered  if  I  were  not  the  victim  of  some 
horrible  delusion — the  Eleanor  Varneck  of  the  present  is  so 
little  like  the  Eleanor  Varneck  of  the  past" 

Gilbert  Varneok  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  that  face  of 
ilarkly  troubled  thought.  Yes,  there  were  times  when  he 
doubted  the  identity  of  his  wife — f'oubtod,  yet  never  dreamed 
of  the  truth.  This  brilliant,  sel'.-posses^ed  woman  with  the 
flashing  Assyrian  eyes  and  haughty,  uplifted  g^race  was  very 
unlike  the  shy,  dove-eyed  darling  he  had  left,  and  yet  the 
same.  Time  had  done  it,  no  doubt.  Time  had  changed  him, 
too;  but  the  something  that  had  vanished  left  a  dreary,  ach- 
ing void  in  his  heart.  The  old,  passionate  love  was  gone. 
His  stately  wife  was  very  brilliant  and  fascinating,  but  the  in- 
sane desire  that  lovers  feel — to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  hold 
her  there  close  to  his  heart  forever — never  came  to  him  now. 
Something  very  sweet  and  precious  had  left  his  life  forever — 
the  power  of  strong,  devoted  love — and  the  Gilbert  and 
Eleanor  Varneck  of  to-day  were  as  unlike  the  Gilbert  and 
Eleanor  of  ten  years  ago  as  mortal  man  and  woman  could  be. 

**  You  don't  love  me,  Gilbert — you  don't  love  me!"  the 
woman  would  cry  out  passionately  sometimes.  "  Oh,  Gil- 
bert, Gilbert!  if  I  loscj  your  love  1  shall  die!" 

The  cry  came  f rcim  her  strong,  impulsive  heart,  for  the 
woman  who  had  sought  him  for  his  name  and  his  wealth,  the 
woman  who  had  palmed  herself  upon  him  as  the  wife  of  his 
youth,  had  learned  to  love  him  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul, 
as  your  flashing-eyed,  tempestuous  creatures  only  love.  She 
knew  now  what  a  pitiful  delusion  that  girlish  fancy  for  Gerald 
Rosslyn  bad  been — that  mad  infatuation  which  had  wrecked 
her  whole  life.  It  was  but  a  girl's  romantic  fancy  for  a  hand- 
some face — a  romantic  fancy  captivated  to-day  by  a  blonde 
Apollo,  and  to-morrow  by  a  modern  Corsair  or  Count  Lara. 

But  this  was  different.  She  had  insnared  the  man,  en- 
trapped him  into  a  marriage;  and,  lo!  ere  the  honey-moon 
was  ended,  she  was  going  mad  for  love  of  him.  This  hero  of 
a  hundred  battles,  with  the  beauty  of  a  demi-god  and  the 
generous  heart  of  a  king — ah,  surely  here  was  a  man  for  a 
woman  to  worship,  to  glory  in,  to  die  for!  And  he  did  not 
love  her.  He  was  hers,  her  husband;  every  outward  form  of 
affection  was  scrupulously  observed;  but  his  heart  to  her  was 
cold  and  still  as  stone. 

**  It  is  my  pUi-?iphment,"  she  thought,  bitterly — *'  my  just 
and  righteous  retribution.  He  does  not  know  of  the  fraud  1 
have  perpetrated,  but  his  true  and  loyal  heart  feels  it     I  Ioyo 


99 


THE    HEIRE88    OP    QLEV    QOWER. 


^ 


him  with  my  whole  wicked  heart  and  sou]  and  strength-^ 
and  he  jast  tolerates  me.  But  he  shall  love  me — he  shall  1" 
The  haughty  head  reared  itself  fiercely,  the  black  eyes  Cashed 
impetuous  lire.  *'  Am  I  not  ten  thousand  times  more  beau- 
tiful, more  fascinating,  than  the  bread-and-butter-eating 
Bchool-girl  he  married  and  lost?  lie  shall  love  mo,  or  Adelia 
Lyon's  right  hand  shall  lose  its  cunning  to  work  and  her  brain 
the  power  to  plot!  He  is  all  my  own;  it  will  go  hard  with  me 
if  I  do  not  make  him  worship  the  very  ground  1  tread  on. 
Oh,  Gilbert!  my  darling,  ray  darlingl" — her  black  eyes  Hashed 
upon  the  pictured  face  of  her  husband — '*  you  don't  know  how 
I  love  you!" 

And  now,  when  all  was  won — when  the  game  seemed  safely 
in  her  own  hands,  when  the  goal  of  her  hopes  was  obtained — 
behold!  a  cloud  arose,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  that 
threatened  to  overspread  her  whole  sky. 

A  new  and  terrible  discovery  threatened  her — a  discovery 
that  would  sweep  from  her  in  an  instant  home,  friends,  wealth, 
husband — all ! 

Who  was  this  hideous  man — this  sinister  Captain  Dandin — 
who  had  come  all  the  way  from  Spain  to  rake  up  the  dead  past 
»nd  fling  it  in  her  frightened  face? 

**  Does  he  know,"  she  thought,  turning  deathly  cold  with 
fear — **  does  he  know  my  dark,  dreadful  story,  or  was  his  re- 
lating it  a  mere  accidental  coincidence?  Great  Heaven!  it 
would  be  worse  than  madness,  worse  than  death,  to  lo^  all 
now!  I  could  give  up  this  stately  home,  this  wealth,  tlu's  lux- 
ury— my  child,  even — without  a  pang,  and  go  forth,  with  the 
husband  I  love,  to  beggary.  But  to  lose  him— to  be  cast  forth 
with  scorn  and  hatred  from  his  side!"  Her  teeth  clinched 
convulsively  and  her  face  turned  livid.  **  Let  the  man  or 
woman  who  dare  come  between  us  beware!  for,  by  all  that 
is  holy,  their  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit!  Safer  was  it  for  Cap- 
tain Dandin  to  camper  with  the  lightning's  chain — with  a 
lioness  robbed  of  her  young — than  with  the  burning  love  of 
this  passionate  heart!" 

She  sat  before  her  mirror,  thinking  such  thoughts  as  these^ 
one  misty  September  evening  some  four  weeks  after  the  de- 
parture of  the  captain.  She  lay  back  in  a  great  carved  and 
gilded  chair,  while  her  maid  combed  out  her  blue-black  masses 
of  rich  hair. 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  Gilbert  Varneck's  birth — hia 
thirty-second  birthday — and  madame  had  decided  it  must  b« 
celebrated  by  a  ball,  to  which  half  the  country  was  to  be  in- 
vited. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    GOWER. 


98 


with 


§ 


All  the  lower  rooms  were  glittering  with  lights  in  the  early 
dusk,  decorated  witii  ilowers,  and  a  Band  from  Baltimore  had 
been  engaged,  and  the  supper-table  was  a  perfectly  dazzling 
vision  of  antique  silver  and  sparkling  glass. 

Mra  Gilbert  Varneck  sat  in  her  gikiad  fmitmnl,  looking  out 
through  the  open  window  at  the  silvery  twilight,  with  a  moody 
frown.  A  horrible  dread  of  this  unknown  man  possessed  her 
— a  dread  that  deepened  every  day,  since  every  passing  hour 
brought  the  timo  of  his  return  nearer. 

Did  he  know,  or  was  it  merely  a  dreadful  coincidence?  Her 
thoughts  rang  the  olianges  on  these  two  questions  day  and 
night — day  and  night.  Would  his  coming  bring  her  safety, 
or  bring  the  hour  of  her  downfall? 

The  silvery  dusk  deepened.  The  round,  white  September 
moon  lifted  her  glittering  shield  over  the  tree-tops,  and  the 
tremulous  stars  came  out  in  their  shining  glory.  Susan  had 
finished  her  task,  and  stood  gazing  at  her  mistress  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight. 

"  You  do  look  splendid,  Mrs.  Gilbert!  There  won't  be  a 
lady  at  the  ball  to-night  half  so  beautiful  as  you!" 

Hearing  this,  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  aroused  herself  from 
her  trance  to  look.  The  full-length  mirror,  blazing  with  wax- 
lights,  showed  her  a  dazzling  vision. 

A  robe  of  golden  moire  swept,  in  a  train  of  richness,  the 
carpet;  diamonds  that  had  blazed  in  the  bosom  of  Mme. 
Varneck's  great-grandmother  ran  like  a  river  of  light  around 
her  throat,  Hashed  on  her  arms,  shone  in  her  ears,  and  a  circlet 
of  dull  gold  gleamed  in  the  raven  coils  of  her  hair. 

Yes,  she  was  beautiful — a  Helen  for  whom  another  Troy 
might  be  lost,  a  Juno  to  queen  it  over  gods  and  men.  Her 
proud  face  softened,  her  somber  eyes  lighted  up. 

"  You  have  dressed  me  well,  Susie.  You  may  go.  Bufc 
first,  have  the  company  begun  to  arrive?" 

*'  Oh,  yos,  missus.  They  allays  come  early.  I  heard  the 
first  (^ni-riage  half  an  hour  ago.  Old  madame  is  in  the  saloon 
receiving  them. " 

**  Very  well,  Susan.     Now  go." 

The  girl  departed. 

Mrs.  Varneck,  taking  one  more  triumphant  look  at  her  own 
splendor,  swept  from  the  room. 

**  Let  Captain  Dandin  do  his  worst!*'  she  thought,  with 
flashing  eyes.     **  The  man  is  not  born  who  can  resist  me!" 

She  tapped  at  the  door  of  her  husband's  study. 

**  Come* in,"  called  the  joice  of  the  colonel;  and,  opening 
tt,  she  rustled  in. 


■y'it. 


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TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photograpiiic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


U6 


^ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


Colonel  Varneckj  dressed  for  the  evening,  lay  back  in  ai 
arm-chair,  solacing  himself  with  a  cigar  and  the  society  of  his 
little  daughter,  before  the  labors  of  the  campaign  commenced. 

**  Oh,  mamma,"  cried  JiKle  Dora,  in  a  rapture,  *'  how  nice 
you  look !    See,  papa — see ! ' ' 

Colonel  Varneck  rose,  flung  his  cigar  out  of  the  window, 
and  stood  looking  at  his  wife. 

How  radiantly  beautiful  she  was!  The  dark  cheeks  were 
flushed,  the  eyes  shone  with  a  streaming  fire.  If  the  woman 
could  not  touch  his  heart,  the  woman^s  supernal  beauty  could 
at  least  dazzle  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  goddess!  it  is  the  Venus  Celestis!  it  is  Juno  herself! 
Is  this  gorgeous  vision  really  plain  Gilbert  Varneck 's  wife,  or 
a  Cleopatra  for  whom  a  thousand  Antonys  might  go  stark 
mad?  My  glorious  Eleanor!  you  are  perfectly  dazzling  to- 
night!" 

She  came  toward  him;  both  hands  clasped  on  his  shoulder, 
the  starry  eyes  luminous  with  love. 

"  So  that  I  am  fair  in  your  eyes,  my  love,  my  husband,  I 
care  not  for  all  the  world  besides.  Gilbert,  Gilbert!  you  will 
love  me  by  and  by  even  as  you  loved  me  ten  long  years  ago. 
You  will  try,  will  you  not,  my  husband?  for,  oh,  1  love  you 
ten  thousand-fold  more  now  than  ever  you  were  loved  in  the 
past!" 

Her  face  dropped  on  his  shoulder  with  a  sort  of  sob.  What- 
ever was  false  about  this  woman,  her  mad  love  for  him  at 
least  was  passionately  true. 

Gilbert  Varneck  drew  her  close  to  him,  with  the  sharpest 
pang  of  remorse  he  had  ever  felt. 

**  My  darling!  my  Eleanor'!  that  were  an  easy  task.  Why, 
my  beautiful  wife,  half  the  men  in  the  house  will  be  ready  to 
go  mad  with  envy  when  they  see  you  to-night.  Come,  it  is 
time  we  went  down.  Run  away  to  your  nurse.  Miss  Eudora; 
little  girls  should  go  to  roost  with  the  chickens.  *' 

He  kissed  her  fondly — the  big  soldier  was  very  fond  of  his 
pretty  little  gray-eyed  girl — drew  his  wife's  arm  within  hia 
own,  and  descended  the  shining  stairs. 

Decorated  with  flowers  and  evergreens,  ablaze  with  lights, 
Btair-way,  halls,  and  reception-rooms  were  ome  long  vista  of 
light  and  splendor. 

Old  Mme.  Varneck,  stately  in  sober  satin  and  old  point- 
lao9„  stood  receiving  her  guests,  like  a  queen  holding  a  Draw- 
ing-room. Her  eyes  kindled  with  pride  as  they  rested  on  her 
regal  daughter-in-law. 

'*  My  dear^  you  surpass  yourself  to-night     You  are  really 


s 

0 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


9S 


his 
ed. 

lice 


uld 


magnificent!  Come  here;  I  want  to  present  two  or  three  very 
old  friends. " 

Colonel  Varneck  resigned  his  wife  with  a  smile^  and  went 
off  to  make  himself  agreeable. 

The  very  old  friends  were  presented  to  **  my  daughter  "  by 
the  uplifted  lady  of  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  received  them 
with  the  regal  grace  of  a  princess. 

She  saw  the  wondering  looks  which  even  good-breeding 
could  not  wholly  repress,  and  smiled  inwardly. 

Was  this  gorgeous  creature,  with  the  dark  beauty  of  an 
Eastern  sultana  and  the  innate  hauteur  of  an  empress,  the 
miserable  little  sewing-girl  Gilbert  Varneck  had  picked  up  in 
the  streets  of  New  York? 

Colonel  Varneck's  birthday  f^te  was  a  complete  success, 
and  Mrs.  Colonel  Varneck  was  decidedly  the  most  beautiful 
and  most  brilliantly  dressed  woman  present 

She  danced  as  though  she  had  been  born  a  French  woman 
or  a  ballet-dancer;  she  sung,  and  people  held  their  breath  to 
listen;  she  talked,  and  her  radiant  smiles  and  gay  repartee 
turned  bewildered  masculine  heads.  She  was  determined  to 
be  irresistible  to-night,  and  for  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife  to  de- 
termine was  to  succeed. 

A  little  before  supper,  wearied  with  her  exertions — for  to 
be  fascinating  for  three  or  four  hours  at  a  stretch  does  require 
some  exertion — a  trifle  flushed  and  heated,  Mrs.  Varneck  left 
her  dazzled  admirers,  and  walked  away  by  herself  to  one  of 
the  long  windows  opening  on  the  lawn. 

It  stood  wide  this  warm  September  night,  and  the  cool 
beauty  without  tempted  her  to  step  through.  The  great, 
round  midnight  moon  sailed  serenely  up  the  star-gemmed 
sky;  the  soft  night  breeze  stirred  the  whispering  leaves;  the 
grass  sparkled  with  dew.  Holding  up  her  glistening  robe, 
she  stepp?d  down  the  graveled  pathway,  a  golden,  shining 
vision  in  the  misty  moonlight. 

Ten  minutes  passed — fifteen.  The  fascinating  Mrs.  Var- 
neck was  beginning  to  be  missed. 

A  dashing  young  Maryland  squire  came  up  to  Colonel  Var- 
neck, who  stood  the  laughing  center  of  a  little  group  of  girls. 

'*  1  say,  colonel,  whereas  your  w^fe?  I  have  the  promise  of 
this  dance,  and  there's  the  music;  but  where  is  she?" 

"  Really,  Vesey,*'  laughed  the  colonel,  **  I  can't  say.  You 
must  be  responsible  for  her  safe- keeping,  for  I  saw  Doctor 
Lawson  resign  her  to  you  some  half  hour  since.     Has  she — \^ 

He  never  finished  the  sentence,  A  shriek,  shrill,  wild, 
piercing,  rang  through  the  room,  electrifying  every  one.     Am 


■\'i 


m 


♦: 


rf^ 


96 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


! 


instant  after,  and  a  flying  figure  came  springing  in  the  win- 
dow, rending  the  air  with  screams.  It  was  Mrs.  Gilbert  Var- 
neck. 

**  Save  me,  Gilbert!    Save  me!  save  me!" 

He  darted  forward  in  wild  alarm. 

**  For  God's  sake,  Eleanor — "  he  cried. 

But  before  he  could  catch  her  she  had  fallen  at  his  feet  in 
spasms. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  LITTLE  TALK   WITH  CAPTAIN  DANDIN. 

Mme.  Varneck's  brilliant  ball  broke  up  in  wildest  confu- 
sion. Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  fell  from  one  spasm  into  another 
—a  terrible  sight  to  see. 

Her  husband  carried  her  up  to  her  room,  and  his  mother 
and  Susan  took  off  the  gorgeous  robes,  the  diamonds,  and  the 
golden  tiara. 

The  family  physician  was  summoned  and  restoratives  ap- 
plied, and  all  was  consternation  and  dismay. 

**  Oh!  what  was  it — what  was  it?''  the  ladies  cried,  clasp- 
ing theirpretty  hands.  **  Wfiat  did  she  see?  Where  had  she 
been?    Who  had  frightened  her  like  this?" 

And  the  gentlemen  looked  in  one  another's  pale,  blank  faces 
in  speechless  amaze. 

"  She  must  have  gone  out  in  the  grounds  for  a  breath  of 
fresh  air,"  Colonel  Varneck  suggestSl,  very  pale,  but  self- 
possessed.  *'  Some  one  may  be  lurking  there  and  have  fright- 
ened her.     1  propose  we  search. " 

And  search  they  did,  most  thoroughly,  by  moonlight  and 
lamp-light,  but  in  vain.  No  one  was  there — the  waving  trees 
and  the  moonlight  had  it  all  to  themselves. 

In  the  midst  of  the  **  confusion  worse  confounded,"  a  gen- 
tleman wearing  a  long,  foreign-looking  cloak  and  carrying  a 
valise  in  his  hand  made  his  way  among  them,  staring  at  the 
well-dressed  crowd  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  so  wildly  excited, 
with  wondering  eyes. 

**  Have  they  turned  peaceful  Glen  Gower  into  a  maison  de 
sante,  and  are  the  lunatics  holding  high  carnival  by  moon- 
light? My  colonel,  have  you  gone  mad  with  the  rest,  or  only 
turned  keeper?" 

TLc  i^enfcleman  with  the  valise  asked  this  question,  tapping 
Colonel  Va    f^ck  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

'  Oh,  Dandid!  is  it  you?"  the  colonel  replied,  with  a  staro, 


it 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    60WEB. 


if 


**  Hare  yon  just  arrived?  Happy  to  see  yoa  again.  Some  of 
the  servants  will  conduct  you  to  your  room." 

**  But  the  hubbub,  colonel?  Is  the  Chesapeake  on  fire,  or 
has  an  earthquake  occurred?    What  is  the  mi^tter?" 

**  Nothing,  I  begin  to  think — an  imaginary  alarm.  My 
wife  was  out  here  a  few  moments  ago,  and  something  terrified 
her.     We  are  searching,  but  can  find  nothing. " 

Captain  Dandin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'*  The  moonlight,  my  friend,  playiug  fandangoes  amonjf 
those  wind-tossed  trees.  Madame  is  excitable,  as  we  know — 
nervous  beyond  anything  I  ever  saw.  You  will  find  the  fright 
all  an  allusion.'' 

It  seemed  so;  no  living  thing  was  to  be  found,  and  the 
startled  searchers  returned  to  the  house.  But  though  the 
fright  might  be  imaginary,  the  result  was  terribly  real.  Mrs. 
Gilbert  Varneck  still  worked  in  violent  hysterics  up  in  her 
room. 

The  company  dispersed  in  sorrow  and  dismay,  and  in  half 
an  hour  after  the  captain  arrived 

**  The  lights  were  fled,  the  garlands  dead, 
And  the  banquet-hall  deserted. " 

'*  How  very  inopportune!"  the  captain  said.  "  And  to 
think  I  should  miss  the  ball  and  the  sight  of  all  your  pretty 
Maryland  belles!  The  hour  is  late;  but  with  your  leave,  my 
colonel,  I  will  smoke  a  cigar  out  yonder  before  1  retire. " 

The  colonel  went  up  to  his  wife's  room,  and  the  captain 
stepped  through  the  open  casement  out  under  the  shming 
stars. 

As  he  lighted  his  Havana  he  looked  up  at  these  golden  lumi- 
naries with  a  queer  smile. 

"My  lucky  stars  are  in  the  ascendant  to-night,"  he 
thought,  **  else  I  had  never  arrived  at  so  propitious  a  moment. 
My  pretty  Adelia,  you  may  be  very  nervous  and  excitable, 
but,  by  my  faith,  you  had  good  reason  for  the  hysterics  this 
time!" 

All  night  long  the  doctor  remained  in  close  attendance  upon 
Mrs.  Varneck.  Toward  morning,  under  the  influence  of  a 
powerful  opiate,  she  fell  asleep,  and  he  at  length  quitted  his 
post 

**  You  had  Detter  retire  now,  madame,"  he  said  to  Mme. 
Varneck.  **  Mrs.  Gilbert  will  do  very  well.  Let  her  be  quiet 
when  she  awaiies;  don't  permit  her  to  talk  much.  I  will 
drive  oyer  again  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  Give  her  this 
iedative  an  hour  or  two  after  breakfast." 


il 


Ni 


98 


THE   HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


It  ,VMtf  late   in   the   forenoon   before  the  patient  awoke. 
^  Mme.  Varneck  had  not  yet  arisen.     Susan  had  fallen  into  a 
deep  sleep  in  her  arm-chair  near  the  bed. 

The  colonel,  who  had  watched  throughout  the  night,  had 
gone  down-stairs  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  matutinal  smoke. 

As  he  re-entered  the  chamber  he  found  his  wife  lying  with 
her  great  dark  eyes  open  and  fixed  in  a  blank  stare  on  the  op- 
posite wall. 

**  My  dear,''  the  colonel  said,  bending  over  her,  '*  how  do 
you  feel?" 

The  haggard  eyes  turned  upon  him  with  a  look  of  such 
itter  misery  and  despair  that  he  shrunk  from  their  weird 
light. 

**  You  are  better,  are  you  not?  Don't  talk  if  you  feel  un- 
equal to  the  exertion.  You  fainted  last  night,  you  remember. 
What  was  is  that  frightened  you,  Eleanor?" 

At  the  simple  question  she  started  up  in  bed  with  a  wild 
cry  of  affright,  and,  flinging  her  arms  around  him,  clung  to 
him  as  for  dear  life. 

"Save  me,  Gilbert — save  me!"  she  cried,  shrilly.  "Oh, 
save  me  from  that  horrible  thing!" 

"  My  Eleanor — my  wife!  what  horrible  thing?  My  dear, 
my  dear!  don't  excite  yourself  in  this  dreadful  way!  Nothing 
shall  harm  you  here.     What  is  it  1  am  to  save  you  from?" 

But  she  only  clung  to  him  the  closer,  trembling  convul- 
sively from  head  to  foot. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you!  I  dare  not  tell  you!  Oh,  Gilbert, 
take  me  away  from  this  horrible  place,  or  1  shall  go  mad, 
mad,  mad!" 

Colonel  Varneck  turned  very  pale.  A  new  and  fearful  idea 
dawned  upon  him.  What  was  this  but  madness  already?  He 
strained  her  to  him  with  a  sudden  revulsion  that  was  almost 
love. 

"My  love — my  wife!  for  God's  sake  be  calm!  Nothing 
shall  harm  you,  nothing  shall  come  near  you.  1  will  take  you 
anywhere  in  the  wide  world  you  wish.  Hush!  don't  talk. 
Lie  still,  and  drink  this." 

He  soothed  her  as  he  would  a  child,  with  kisses  and  ca- 
resses. She  drank  the  composing  draught  he  offered,  and 
nestled  close  to  his  breast,  with  long,  shuddering  sighs. 

"  Sleep,  my  darling — sleep  in  peace.  I  will  not  leave  you 
— I  will  hold  you  here  until  you  awake." 

She  twined  her  arms  around  his  neck;  thf  wild,  dark  eyes 
softened  with  the  light  of  unutterable  love. 

^*  My   darling!   my   darling!"   ih«    whispered,    "  this   is 


THB    HEIRESS    CF    GLEN    GOWER. 


dd 


heayenl    Oh,  my  love — my  own!  if  I  only  dared  die  now, 
even  death  would  be  sweet!" 

'*  But  you  are  not  going  to  die,  my  Eleanor;  you  are  going 
to  live  and  make  me  the  happiest  man  on  earth." 

**  Would  you  be  sorry,  Gilbert— really  and  truly  sorry — if 
1  died  to-day?'' 

'*  My  own,  what  a  question!  Sorry  to  lose  my  peerless 
wife?  But  you  are  ill  and  nervous,  or  you  never  would 
think — never  would  say  such  strange  things.  I  will  take  you 
away  from  here;  we  will  wander  over  the  Old  World.  You 
shall  see  all  the  fair  foreign  cities  we  have  read  of;  and  in 
years  after  this  wo  will  return,  the  happiest  Darby  and  Joan 
alive.     Now  sleep,  and  talk  no  more." 

Mrs.  Varneck  recovered  after  this,  but  very  slowly.  The 
most  tender  care,  the  most  lavish  devotion,  were  hers,  but 
nothing  could  win  from  her  the  cause  of  her  fright  and  ill- 
ness. 

A  mortal  paleness  overspread  her  face  at  the  remotest  allu- 
sion to  that  night,  and  by  the  colonel's  command  the  bubject 
was  dropped  forever. 

It  was  drawing  very  near  the  close  of  September  before 
Mrs.  Varneck  ventured  down-stairs,  and  during  all  that  time 
her  husband  and  mother  rarely  left  her  side.  But  on  the  oc- 
casion of  her  first  appearance  in  the  drawing-room  she  was 
quite  alone. 

An  invitation  to  a  wedding-party,  impossible  to  refuse,  had 
come,  and  Eleanor  had  insisled  on  her  husband  and  her 
mother  leaving  her  for  once. 

**  You  have  both  moped  yourselves  nearly  to  death  for  the 
past  three  weeks  at  my  bedside,"  she  said.  **  Go  this  even- 
mg,  and  enjoy  yourselves  at  Miss  Clayton's  wedding.  I  shall 
do  very  well  alone." 

Perhaps  the  time  had  come  when  she  was  glad  to  be  alone 
for  a  little  with  her  own  thoughts.  Perhaps  she  was  inclined 
to  repay  their  unselfish  devotion  for  once  in  kind. 

*'  You  are  sure  you  will  not  be  afraid?"  Gilbert  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

**  Quite  sure,  my  dearest  and  best!"  with  her  most  radiant 
smile.  *'  With  my  books  and  my  piano,  this  bright  fire,  and 
little  Dora  it  will  go  hard  with  me  if  I  can  not  drag  out  ow 
evening.  You  must  not  quite  make  a  spoiled  baby  of  me, 
Gilbert." 

The  pretty  drawing-room  looked  very  bright  and  cozy  with 
its  sparkling  coal-fire,  its  glowing  draperies  as  they  left  her 
alone  in  it.     Outside,  the  September  evening  was  bleak  and 


100 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


i 


I 


oyercaet;  the  black,  scudding  clouds  threatened  rain,  and  th« 
fihrill  wind  whistled  eerily  through  the  trees.  Eleanor  Var- 
neck  nestled  closer  in  her  luxurious  chair,  and  put  her  slippered 
feet  on  the  shining  fender  with  a  little,  comfortable  shiver  as 
she  listened  to  the  bleak  blowing  of  the  chill  blast. 

The  door  was  ajar;  it  opened  noiselessly,  and  a  man  came 
in.  An  instant  he  stood  contemplating  her  with  a  demoniac 
smile.  Her  illness  had  left  her  very  thin  and  wan,  and  the 
dark,  deep  eyes  and  dead-black  hair  rendered  her  marble  pal- 
lor all  the  more  startling. 

"Going,''  he  thought  —  "going  already  —  that  brilliant 
beauty  which  is  her  all!  It  will  wither  as  a  waxen  japonica 
withers  in  a  December  blast.  And  then,  my  lady,  what  is 
left?" 

He  drew  near;  he  stood  close  behind  her.  Still  she  never 
heard  him.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  dreamily  on  the  glowing 
coals.  She  was  very  happy  to-night — happier  than  she  had 
been  for  a  long  time.  Gilbert  V arneck  had  been  the  most 
tender  of  husbands,  the  most  devoted  of  lovers  during  the 
past  few  weeks,  and  time  and  eternity  held  nothing  half  so 
precious  to  this  woman  as  her  husband's  love. 

*'  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mrs.  Varneck.  It  is  a 
long  time  since  we  met." 

She  bounded  from  the  chair  with  a  cry.  There,  by  her 
side,  stood  the  man  she  hated  and  feared  most  on  earth! 

"  Have  I  startled  you?  Ah,  unfortunate  that  1  am!  Ten 
thousand  pardons  for  my  indiscretion,  but  1  was  so  glad. 
They  told  me  you  were  here;  they  asked  me  to  come  and 
amuse  you,  and  I  have  come.^' 

She  never  spoke ;  she  could  not.  She  stood  stock  still,  livid 
with  terror,  both  hands  pressed  hard  over  her  heart. 

"  Do  sit  down,  dear  lady.  Don't  look  at  me  with  such  wild 
eyes.  It  is  1 — Dandin — and  no  ghost.  By  the  way,  are  there 
ghosts  at  Glen  Gower,  and  did  you  see  one  the  other  night?" 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke — his  most  sinister  laugh — every 
white  tooth  gleaming  derisively.  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  fell 
back  in  her  chair,  the  bluish  pallor  of  death  stamped  in  every 
feature.  Twice  she  essayed  to  speak,  and  twice  her  livid  Hds 
failed  her.     The  third  time  the  words  came: 

In  the  name  of  God,  who  are  you — man  or  demon?" 

Dear  lady  " — and  Captain  Dandin  drew  up  a  chair,  laugh- 
ing his  softest  laugh — "  such  a  singular  question!  I  am  Cap- 
tain Jules  Dandin,  and  your  husband's  very  good  friend.  He 
%old  you  so,  did  he  not?    And  his  friends  ought  to  be  yours. 


i( 


(( 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


lOi 


for,  mon  Dicn  !  for  a  married  lady  past  tho  honoy-moon  you 
are  absurdly  fond  of  my  big,  brown  colonel/' 

'*  Who  are  you?'*  she  cried  out,  shrilly.  **  Tell  me,  or  1 
will  arouse  the  house!  Who  are  you?  What  do  you  kuow  of 
me?'' 

*  Ah!  now  we  come  to  business — now  we  come  to  common 
sense.  What  do  I  know  of  you?  Dear  Mrs.  Gilbert  Var- 
neck — most  beautiful  and  most  gifted  of  your  aex — every- 
thing!" 

She  sat  speechless,  looking  at  him — speechless  with  mortal 
fear.  Captain  Dandin's  face  was  wreathed  in  blandest  smiles. 
He  drew  his  chair  a  little  closer. 

**  Dear  lady,  how  nice  this  is — how  cozy,  how  snug!  The 
big,  turbulent  world  shut  out,  and  this  bright  fire  and  pretty 
room,  and  only  our  two  selves!  I  foresee  we  shall  spend  a 
most  delightful  evening,  and  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  yon. 
Do  you  know  they  invited  me  to  the  wedding  to-night,  and  I 
declined?  I  had  important  letters  to  write.  1  gave  up  drink- 
ing the  wine,  and  tasting  the  cake,  and  looking  at  the  pretty 
bride,  all  for  a  little  talk  with  you.  1  have  waited  so  long, 
^oar  lady — ever  since  the  night  you  were  taken  ill.  Ah,  how 
sudden  and  how  mysterious  that  was!  My  heart  bled  for  you 
and  your  afflicted  husband. " 

The  suppressed  mockery  of  his  tone  was  rousing  her.  A 
dusky  fire  began  to  burn  in  the  biack  eyes  fixedly  regarding 
him— the  light  of  rising  anger.  The  woman  might  be  a  bad 
woman — a  crafty  and  unprincipled  woman — but  she  was  no 
coward.  She  sat  down  and  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

'*  I  have  only  to  say  the  word.  Captain  Dandin — if  that  be 
your  name — to  have  you  thrust  from  this  house,  from  yonder 
gates,  by  my  husband's  slaves.  Take  care,  sir,  how  you  dare 
abuse  his  generous  confidence  and  hospitality,  and  insult  his 
wife!" 

•"Insult  his  wife,  dear  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck?  Int  ilt  a 
lady?  Forbid  it,  ye  shades  of  all  the  Dandins  that  ever  adored 
beauty!  And  if  I  could  be  so  unnatural  a  monster,  dear  lady, 
you,  whom  I  admire  above  all  your  charming  sex,  would  be 
the  very  last  to  suffer  by  my  brutality.  Oh,  no!  not  for  ten 
thousand  worlds  would  Jules  Dandin  abuse  the  confidence  and 
generosity  of  the  most  confiding  of  men — and,  ols  my  Heaven! 
how  confiding  the  big,  brown  colonel  is  only  you  and  I  know. " 
He  laughed  his  soft,  derisive  laugh,  and  the  glitter  of  his 
deadly  black  eyes  made  her  blood  run  cold. 


103 


^^t)    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


#: 


**  Why  have  you  como  here  to-night?"  she  asked.  "  \Vliav 
do  you  want  of  me?" 

*'  Only  a  little  talk — a  little  confidential  iele-a-(cte.  And 
what  time  like  the  present,  when  our  trusting  husband  and 
our  stately  mamma  have  gone  to  the  wedding,  and  we  have 
this  big  house  and  pretty  room  all  to  ourselves?  You  expected 
me,  dearest  lady.  Don't  say  no.  I'm  sure  you  did.  You 
knew  when  I  told  that  interesting  little  story  of  my  friend 
Gerald  Kosslyn  at  the  dinner-table,  some  weeks  ago,  I  would 
come  back.  What  a  tender  heart  is  yours,  dear  Mrs.  Gilbert 
Varnecky  to  faint  dead  away  at  its  tragic  climax,  and  what  a 
beautiful  trait  is  tender-heartedness  and  timidity  in  your  sex! 
You  knew  I  would  come  back,  and  1  have  come.  And  now 
that  I  am  here,  shall  I  tell  you  the  conclusion  of  that  highly 
sensational  little  story  of  real  life?" 

She  tried  to  answer  him,  but  her  lips  failed.  An  awful 
trembling  seized  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Silence  gives  consent!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  gayly. 
**  I  am  to  finish  my  pretty  story.  Where  did  I  leave  on? 
Oh,  1  think  I  told  how  the  deserted  one  shot  the  faithless 
lover  at  the  very  altar,  and  served  him  quite  right,  too.  He 
was  a  villain,  that  Gerald  Rosslyn — a  double-dyed  traitor  and 
villain — and  richly  had  he  earned  his  fate.  1  told  how  she 
shot  him,  how  she  baffled  the  officers  of  the  law,  and  made 
good  her  escape.  1  said,  1  think,  that  the  probabilities  lay 
that  she  was  living  yet — perhaps  had  wormed  her  way  into 
some  aristocratic  family,  and  contrived  for  herself  a  wealthy 
marriage.  Dear  Mrs.  Varneck,  1  am  not  a  Yankee,  but  what 
a  clever  guess  that  was!  She  has  wormed  her  way  into  a  most 
aristocratic  family — she  has  contrived  for  herself  a  wealthy 
marriage!  More,  she  has  palmed  off  Gerald  Eosslyn's  child 
as  the  child  of  the  man  she  has  duped.  Now,  what  a  clever 
woman,  what  a  talented  woman,  what  a  genius  she  must  be, 
to  do  all  that!  I  bow  in  unutterable  admiration  before  such 
genius.  I,  Dandin,  could  not  surpass  such  diabolical  schem- 
ing myself." 

She  never  spoke.  She  sat  still  as  stone,  white  as  death, 
listening  to  this  dreadful  man. 

**  Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  was — open  the  mysteries  and  show 
you  how  she  did  it?  I  will!  She  had  a  sister — a  year  younger 
— quite  as  pretty,  a  thousand  times  more  innocent  than  her- 
self. A  year  after  Adelia  Lyon's  elopement  this  sister,  pretty 
little  Eleanor,  married  a  man — no,  a  rash,  impetuous,  foolish 
boy — calling  himself  Launcelot  Lauriston.  Launcelot  Lauris- 
ton  never  beard  of  the  naughty  elder  sister  who  had  disgraced 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEK    GOWElt. 


103 


herself  and  family^  and  when,  eight  or  niDe  mouths  after  his 
mad  marriage,  poverty  compelled  him  to  tiy  the  oouutry,  he 
loft  still  in  ignorance  of  that  sister's  existence.  Years  passed, 
and  he  never  returned.  His  mother,  a  rich  and  louoly  old 
woman,  advertised  for  her  son's  hitherto  despised  wife,  and — 
found  her.  Adelia  Lyon,  the  murderess,  was  earning  her  liv- 
ing, hardly  enough,  among  strangers.  She  saw  the  advertise- 
ment, and  a  plot  as  cunning  and  clever  as  ever  entered  the 
head  of  woman  entered  hers. 

*'  *  My  sister  is  dead,'  said  Adelia.  *  Her  child  ' — a  little 
boy,  by  the  way,  1  believe  it  was — *  is  swallowed  up  forever  in 
the  great  wilderness  of  New  York.  Launcelot  Lauriston  is 
dead  and  buried  long  ago,  no  doubt,  since  he  has  never  been 
heard  from.  His  mother  never  saw  his  wife.  I  am  as  like 
her  as  it  is  possible  for  sisters  to  be.  Why  should  the  rich  old 
woman's  wealth  go  begging  for  want  of  a  daughter-in-law? 
No;  I  will  be  her  daughter-m-law.  I  have  Eleanor's  wedding- 
ring,  her  husband's  picture,  her  marriage  certificate,  which 
she  sent  to  me  when  she  thought  herself  dying.  There  is 
nothing  to  hinder  my  passing  myself  off  as  Mrs.  Launcelot 
Lauriston — and  I  will!' 

**  Dear  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck,  was  it  not  a  magnificent 
idea — worthy  of  the  magnificent  creature  who  conceived  it? 

** '  I  will  take  my  child  from  Granny  Croak,  in  Lymeford,* 
Adelia  said  to  herself,  *  and  palm  it  oG.  as  the  child  of  Laun- 
celot Lauriston  1' 

**  Admirable  project,  and  admirably  carried  out.  She  did 
all  she  said.  She  did  more.  When  Launcelot  Lauriston — 
which  was  only  an  alias,  by  the  bye — turned  up  from  the 
dead,  this  superb  creature  actually  made  him  believe  she  was 
his  deserted  wife — made  him  marry  her  over  again,  and  is 
now  the  most  honored  and  admired  among  women.  By  Jove, 
madame,  I  lose  my  breath  when  I  think  of  it!  I  could  fall  at 
her  feet  and  worship  such  superhuman  genius!  Let  that 
woman  and  Dandin  be  friends,  and  the  whole  world  is  power- 
less against  them.  Let  them  be  enemies,  andpovfr' — he 
blew  an  imaginary  enemy  off  the  tips  of  his  fingers — *'  thus  1 
send  her  to  perdition.     Dear  lady,  my  story  is  told." 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  They  sat  for  fully  a  minute  look* 
ing  into  each  other's  eyes  like  duelists. 

Then  Captain  Dandin,  leaning  easily  forward,  lifted  her 
left  arm  between  his  finger  and  thumb. 

**  One  sister — Gerald  Kosslyn's  murderess — had  a  birth- 
mark^ a  black  triangle^  on  her  l«f t  wrist.     Launcelot  Lauris- 


104 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


ton's  wife  had  none.  Ik  was  throe  little  black  moles,  dear 
lady— the  very  image  of  this!" 

lie  held  up  the  arm.  There  in  the  fire-light  shone  the 
three  black  molea  Ho  dropped  it,  and  it  fell  lifeless  by  her 
side. 

"  1  know  your  story,"  he  said,  every  white  tooth  glisten- 
ing, **  and,  Ailelia  Lyon,  I  know  you!  Fairest  and  cleverest 
of  vour  sex,  let  me  do  homage  to  your  transcendent  genius." 

She  found  her  voice  at  la«t,  numbed  to  the  heart  with 
deadly  fear. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked,  in  a  hollow  voice;  "for  you 
have  told  me  more  than  mortal  man  knows." 

**  I  have  told  you  before  who  1  am — onco  Gerald  Rosslyn's 
friend.  That  implies  everything.  Your  friend  now,  if  jou 
wish  it.  Not  for  worlds  would  I  be  the  enemy  of  so  glorious 
a  creature.  Every  man  has  his  price.  Pay  me  mine  and  1 
leave  you  in  peace. " 

**  What  proof  have  you  of  this?  Suppose  1  defy  you — sup- 
pose I  bid  you  do  your  worst — suppose  you  go  to  my  husband 
and  tell  him  all?  What  proof  have  you  beyond  your  mere 
word?  He  never  knew  his  wife  had  a  sister.  Will  he  believe 
you  when  you  assert  she  had?" 

Captain  Dandin  laughed. 

'*  Yes,  my  dear  Adelia,  I  think  he  will." 

**  How — how  will  you  prove  her  existence?" 

**  In  the  simplest  way  imaginable — by  bringing  her  before 
him." 

Mrs.  Varneck  laughed  in  her  turn — a  shrill,  hysterical 
laugh. 

*'  Bring  a  corpse  out  of  its  grave?  A  woman  who,  by  your 
own  account,  has  been  dead  over  five  years!" 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Varneck;  I  said  nothing  of  the 
kind.  Adelia  Lyon  took  her  sister's  death  for  granted.  Cap- 
tain Dandin  never  takes  anything  for  granted.  I  have  the 
strongest  internal  conviction  that  you  are  no  more  Gilbert 
Varneck's  wife,  despite  that  interesting  little  ceremony  some 
weeks  ago,  than  I  am.  I  have  the  strongest  idea  that  his  law- 
ful wedded  wife  is  alive  and  well. " 

The  woman  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  shrill  scream — a  scream 
of  wild,  sharp  agony. 

**  No,"  she  cried,  "no,  no,  no!  he  has  no  wife  on  earth 
out  me!  Eleanor  Lyon  is  dead  and  buried,  and  Gilbert  Var- 
neck is  mine,  mine,  mine  I" 

She  paused,  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  in  speechless  hor- 


THE    KEIIiEBS    OF    OLEN    OOWEIU 


106 


ror;  for  there  m  the  door- way,  pulo  and  amazed,  wac  Qilbart 
Varnock  himself. 


CllAPTKU   XVII. 

SEALING    THE    BOND. 

E7EN  Captain  Dandin,  for  an  instant,  was  thimder-struok 
— only  for  an  instant;  then  the  man  rose  with  the  occasion, 
and  was  sublime. 

*'My  colonel!'*  he  cried;  *' lilie  Banquo's  ghost  at  the 
Thane  of  Cawdor's  feast!  See  how  you  startle  your  nervous 
lady,  most  inconsiderate  of  men.  1^11  wager,  now,  she  thinks 
some  horrible  calamity  has  befallen.  Look!  she  stands  there 
petrified!     Ah,  how  nervous  you  are — you  American  ladies!" 

**  1  think  my  '  nervous  lady  *  was  startled  before  I  appeared 
at  all,"  Colonel  Varneck  said,  very  coldly.  **  It  is  you  who 
have  startled  her.  Captain  Dandin.  What  did  that  shriek 
mean  as  1  came  in?" 

**  He  has  heard  nothing,"  thought  the  astute  Dandin. 
**  He  is  not  the  man  to  beat  about  the  bush.  If  he  had,  he 
would  demand  an  explanation  at  once.  If  this  woman  does 
not  make  a  fool  of  herself,  the  game  is  all  our  own  yet." 

He  caught  Mra  Varneck's  eye  for  one  second — only  one — 
but  that  piercing  glance  of  warning  was  enough.  She  sunk 
down  in  her  chair,  white  and  trembling,  her  hand  pressed 
over  her  heart,  catching  her  cue  at  onoe. 

**  You  men  are  all  alike,"  she  said,  pantingly.  **  One 
would  need  cast-iron  nerves  to  tolerate  you.  First,  Captain 
Dandin  terrifies  me  almost  to  death  with  horrible  anecdotes 
of  murders  and  ghosts,  and  then,  just  as  the  horridest  climax 
of  his  most  horrid  story  is  reached,  you  must  appear.  Colonel 
Varneck,  like  a  specter  in  a  German  legend,  when  I  think 
you  half  a  dozen  miles  away.  There!"  with  a  shrug  and  a 
pout;  **  don't  stand  staring,  for  pity's  sake,  but  como  in  and 
tell  us  what  has  brought  you  back     Where  is  mother?" 

**  Safe  at  the  wedding." 

He  came  slowly  forward,  with  a  countenance  of  dark  grav- 
ity. Strange  suspicions  of  he  knew  not  what  filled  his  mind. 
The  plausible  pretext  of  Captain  Dandin  and  his  wife  only 
troubled  him,  but  did  not  deceive. 

He  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other,  but  the  captain  wore 
his  brightest  smile,  and  his  wife's  fixed  pallor  told  nothing  to 
his  honest  eyes.  Something  was  wrong.  No  ghost  story  told 
by  Captain  Dandin  had  caused  that  shrill  scream  of  alright 


n 


"    ') 


jl 


h 


! 

.1 
1-11 


106 


— :e  heiress  of  glen  govvKm.. 


He  had  not  heard  the  words,  but  there  was  speechless  terror 
in  that  agonized  cry. 

Were  they  trying  to  deceire  him — the  wife  of  his  bosom— 
the  friend  he  trusted?  And  why?  Had  they  a  secret  in  com- 
mon which  he  did  not  share?  Had  they  ever  met  befote,  and 
where? 

**  He  unbends  at  last!"  the  captain  exclaimed,  with  a  light 
laugh.  "  My  colonel,  1  thcr^ht  you  had  looked  at  Medusa, 
and  were  turning  to  stone.  What  means  that  face  of  petrified 
severity?  What  have  we  done,  your  good  lady  or  myself, 
that  you  regard  us  with  that  Gorgon-like  stare?  Dear  ma- 
dame,  is  it  the  green-eyed  monster?    Is  our  colonel  jealous?" 

**  Don't  be  an  idiot,  Dandin!"  the  colonel  said,  impa- 
tiently. **  Perhaps  I  am  getting  nervous,  too,  and  'ny  wife's 
screams  have  aggravated  the  disease.  It  is  rather  startling  to 
come  home  suddenly  and  find  the  sharer  of  your  joys  shriek- 
ing like  a  bedlamite.  1  trust,  for  the  future,  my  good  friend, 
you  will  endeavor  to  tone  down  your  high-pressure  stories,  and 
spare  our  sensitive  nerves. " 

He  drew  up  a  chair,  as  he  spoke,  between  the  twro,  and  gave 
the  glowing  coals  a  vicious  poke. 

**  Why  have  you  come  home,  Gilbert?"  his  wife  asked,  very 
gently.     *'  You  have  not  told  us  yet." 

Her  hand  sought  his;  her  dark  eyes  lilted  wistfully  to  his 
face. 

Ah,  there  was  no  mistaking  that  gaze  of  unutterable  love! 

**  I  have  returned  on  your  account,  my  timid  Eleanor," 
he  replied,  fully  unbending.  "I  did  not  know  what  time 
Dandin  might  see  fit  to  get  through  with  his  letters,  and  I 
didn't  at  all  like  the  notion  of  leaving  you  solitary  and  alone 
all  night.  So,  having  deposited  madame  mere  safely  in  the 
midst  of  the  wedding  guests,  and  drunk  the  bride's  health  in 
sparkling  Moselle,  I  remounted  and — here  1  am." 

**  Then  I  am  off  duty!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  starting  up; 
"  and  I  shall  resume  my  neglected  letters  at  once.  Make  my 
peace  with  your  good  lady,  my  colonel.  How  was  1  to  know 
she  was  so  intensely  sensitive?  Let  ignorance  plead  my  par- 
don this  once.     I  will  offend  that  way  no  more. " 

"  Look  in  upon  us  before  you  go  to  bed,  Dandin,"  Gilbert 
said,  good-naturedly.  **  Nelly  won't  be  implacable,  I  dare 
say.  You'll  find  us  here  until  eleven.  Our  invalid  must  not 
sit  up  later. " 

The  captain  retired  with  a  nod. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  Yarneck  snuj^led  up  to  her  husband  with  a 
Jittle  hysterical  laugi^. 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEX    GOWEK. 


107 


cc 


"  How  g'ood  you  are  to  me,  Gilbert!"  sVio  enid — ^'  zc 
thought^rl^  so  solicitous!  A  thousand  times  better  than  1  <[e« 
ser^el" 

Not  one  whit  better  than  you  deserve,  I  hope,  Nelly,''  he 
said,  gravely.  **  But  I  wish — I  do  wish — you  were  not  so 
hypersensitive.  It  gave  me  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  sen- 
sptions  1  ever  experienced,  standing  in  that  door-way,  and 
seeing  you  springing  up  with  that  wild,  wild  scream.  Eleanor, 
what  had  Dandin  been  telling  you?" 

The  dark  look,  the  ugly  feeling  of  doubt  and  distrust,  came 
over  him  again.  He  could  f'^el  her  clinging  to  him  closely 
and  convulsively,  shuddering  through  her  whole  frame.  Of 
all  the  man's  revelations,  of  all  his  power  over  her,  nothing 
had  gone  home  to  her  inmost  soul  like  the  bare  hint  that  shot 
was  not  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife. 

*'  What  was  it?"  he  repeated. 

*'  A  horrible  story,  Gilbert— a  dark  and  dreadful  story. 
Don't  ask  me  to  repeat  it.  1  wish  I  had  never  heard  it;  it 
will  haunt  me  for  a  month.  Oh!" — her  teeth  clicked  con- 
vulsively together,  her  hands  clinched — **  ho'v»  I  hate — how  J 
hate  that  man!" 

"  Eleanor!" 

The  shocked  tone,  the  look  of  grieved  surprise  and  in* 
credulity,  brought  her  to  herself.  She  tried  to  laugh  again^ 
but  it  was  a  miserable  failure. 

"It's  these  wretched  nerves  of  mine,  I  suppose,  and  the 
man's  ill  looks.  Poor  wretch!  he  can't  help  his  looks,  and  I 
can't  help  my  nerves.  Don't  let  us  talk  of  it  or  of  him,  Gil- 
bert. Let  us  try  to  have  a  pleasant  evening,  now  that  you  are 
here.  Listen  to  the  rising  wind!"  She  rose  as  she  spoke, 
with  a  strange,  wild  look  of  dread  in  her  eyes.  **  How  deso- 
late and  lonely  it  sounds!  How  wildly  the  trees  rock  and  the 
sea  moans!  I  am  glad  you  are  here;  I  am  glad  I  am  not  to 
he  alone  this  weird,  windy  night." 

She  shivered  in  the  warm  air,  stood  an  instant  irresolute, 
then  moved  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  the  piano. 

**  We  will  drown  the  wails  of  the  wind  in  a  storm  of  music," 
she  said,  with  a  wild  laugh.  "  It  is  weeks  since  I  played  for 
you,  Gilbert.     I  will  try  and  make  up  for  it  now. " 

Eleanor  Varneck  sat  down  and  broke  into  a  noisy  prelude, 
then  into  song.  Song  after  song  she  sung  in  an  impassioned, 
excited  way,  until  she  could  sing  no  more;  then  her  fingers 
flew  over  the  keys  in  tempestuous  marches  and  galops  that 
t.ackled  sharply  as  showers  of  rockets.  It  was  as  if  she  wished 
to  drown  a  storm  within  as  well  as  the  rising  gale  without 


108 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


ii 


And  all  the  while  her  husband  sat  listening  and  watching 
her,  with  a  face  of  dark  distrust  and  gloom. 

Was  her  mind  giving  way?  Had  he  only  found  his  wife  to 
lose  her  again?    Was  Eleanor  Varneck  going  mad? 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  With  the  last  silvery  chime  the 
door  opened  and  Cap4ain  Di.adin  came  in. 

**  This  must  be  the  music  of  the  spheres.  How  is  it  your 
poet  goes?  Dear  Mrs.  Varneck,  you  are  inspired  to-night. 
Pray,  pray,  don't  cease  because  I  intrude. " 

**  1  am  tired,"  Mrs.  Varneck  said,  rising  as  abruptly  from 
the  piano  as  she  had  gone  to  it. 

**  But  one  song  more — only  one  little  chansonette.'* 

**  I  will  sing  no  more  to-night,"  she  said,  almost  fiercely, 
closing  the  instrument  and  facing   him  with  blazing  black 


eyes. 

"  Excuse  my 
"  she  is  tired. 


wife,  Dandin,"  the  colonel  said,  gravely; 
IS  tirea.  Eleanor,  my  dear,  it  is  past  eleven.  Is  it 
quite  prudent  for  you  to  remain  up  longer?" 

*'  I  will  go,"  she  answered,  abruptly.     *'  Good-night." 

Captain  Dandin  sprung  with  gallant  alacrity  to  open  the 
door. 

**  The  colonel  and  I  will  blow  a  cloud  before  retiring,  but 
not  in  your  pretty  drawing-room.  Good-night,  dear  lady;  try 
and  forgive  Dandin. " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  looking  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 
That  looked  mastered  her;  her  eyes  fell,  and  whe  laid  her 
ringed  hand  in  his. 

'*  Good-night,"  she  repeated,  frigidly. 

A  scrap  of  paper  was  slipped  in  her  palm,  then  the  door 
closed  behind  her,  and  the  two  men  were  alone.  The  hall  was 
flooded  with  light;  she  opened  the  paper  there  and  then,  and 
read  its  two  lines: 

**  I  leave  this  place  in  a  week.  Before  the  end  of  the  week 
we  must  meet  again,  and  alone." 

That  was  all.  She  went  straight  up  to  her  room,  held  the 
paper  in  the  flame  of  the  candle  and  burned  it  to  ashes. 

*'  If  it  were  he!'  she  said,  between  her  set  teeth.  *'  If  he 
were  tied  to  a  stake,  I  would  light  the  fagots,  and  stand  by  to 
exult  in  his  dying  screams  of  agony!  Is  he  man  or  ae^il,  to 
tell  me  what  he  told  me  to-night?" 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast.  Captain  Dandm  formally  an- 
nounced his  departure  early  the  following  week.  Mrs.  Var- 
Dock  was  present,  but  her  eyes  never  looked  m  his  direction— * 
hev  lips  never  uttered  one  nolite  formula  oi  regret. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWER. 


109 


hing 

fe  to 

the 


the 


-  ■  .'ff 


•'  My  little  Fairy  is  languishing  to  see  me,  I  know,"  he 
said,  *'  and  my  business  is  all  arranged.  Your  long,  cold  win- 
ter approaches,  and  I  must  hasten,  with  the  swallows,  south- 
ward." 

**  We  may  meet  in  Spain,"  replied  Colonel  Varneck;  "  who 
knows?  We  are  going  abroad  in  a  month  or  two.  Mrs.  Var- 
neck's  health  requires  immediate  change.  We  may  see  you 
and  Fairy  next  in  old  Valencia." 

Late  in  the  day  Mme.  Varneck  returned,  full  of  glowing 
accounts  of  the  wedding,  and  everybody's  regrets  that  the 
colonel  and  dear,  delightful  Mrs.  Gilbert  were  not  there. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  listened  to  the  old  lady's  animated  talk  with 
dreary  listlessness. 

**  I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  yourself,"  she  said,  with  a  weary 
sigh.  *'  It  would  have  bored  me  to  death.  I  believe  I  am 
not  adapted  for  society,  after  all.  1  am  ever  happiest  at 
home." 

The  weeks  went  very  fast.  Mrs.  Varneck  counted  the  days. 
But  two  remained  now  until  her  arch-enemy's  departure,  and 
no  opportunity  yet  for  that  private  meeting.  Would  he  really 
go  without  insisting  upon  it?  No;  that  night  a  second  scrap 
of  paper  was  thrust  into  her  hand : 

**  You  must  not  go  to  the  dinner-party  to-morrow  evening. 
Feign  some  excuse.  1  will  be  under  the  old  elm,  down  the 
avenue,  at  half  past  nine.     Meet  me  there. " 

Mrs.  Varneck  burned  the  note  to  ashes,  with  a  face  full  of 
dark,  vindictive  hatred. 

**  And  1  must  obey  him — 1  must  meet  him!"  she  hissed. 
**  Oh,  for  strength  and  daring  to  take  a  dagger  with  me  and 
stab  h?  a  to  the  heart!" 

.  The  dinner-party  at  Squire  Cabell's  next  night  was  deprived 
of  its  brightest  ornament  in  the  absence  of  Colonel  Varneck's 
brilliant  wife.  Until  the  last  moment  she  bad  fully  intended 
to  go;  but  at  the  last  moment  her  husband  found  her  lying 
among  the  pillows  of  the  lounge,  her  forehead  bandaged,  her 
room  darkened,  half  distracted  with  headache. 

**  And  you  reall."  can  not  go,  Eleanor?"  he  said,  regret* 
fully.  **  Then,  my  dearest,  1  will  stay  and  bear  you  com- 
pany." 

*'No,  no!"  she  exclaimed.  **What  nonsense,  Gilbert! 
Stay  from  the  dinner-party,  the  pleasantest  of  the  season — 
offend  Squire  Cabell — and  all  because  your  fidgety  wife  hap- 
pens to  have  a  headache!  1  won't  near  of  it  I  You  »re 
dressed,  and  you  shall  go  at  once." 


(  J 


110 


) 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


**  Bat,  Nelly,  do  you  think  me  heartless  enough  to  eL^oy 
myself  abroad  while  you  are  suffering  at  home?" 

**  You  big,  tender-hearted  soldier!"  she  laughed,  a  little 
hysterically,  as  she  twined  her  arms  round  his  neck.  **  There, 
go!  Console  yourself  with  the  thought  that  I  will  be  better 
alone.  Darkness,  silence  and  sleep  are  my  only  remedies,  and 
I  can  not  have  them  with  you  at  homo  to  talk  to  me.  What 
time  will  you  be  back,  Gilbert?" 

She  asked  the  question  without  looking  at  him.  She  could 
not  meet  the  frank,  trustful  eyes  just  then. 

**■  Oh,  by  midnight — long  after  you  are  asleep.  One  can 
not  get  away  early  from  Cabell's.  Well,  good-bye,  my  own! 
See  that  the  headache  is  chased  away  by  the  time  I  return. 
Shall  I  send  my  mother  to  you?" 

"No;  I  am  best  alone.  Tell  her  to  retire.  I  shall  not 
quit  my  room  to-night. " 

"  And  Susie — you  will  need  her?" 

**  No,"  abruptly.  "  I  shall  want  no  one.  There!  go,  Gil- 
bert; you  will  certainly  be  late." 

He  kissed  her  and  departed,  whistling  a  tune.  She  sat  up, 
listening  until  the  last  echo  of  his  footsteps  died  away,  then 
buried  her  head  among  the  pillows,  and  for  hours  lays  motion- 
less as  stone. 

The  day  had  been  dark  and  bleak;  the  night  closed  in  early, 
cheerless  and  raw.  With  the  darkness  rose  the  wind.  It 
moaned  among  the  tossing  trees;  it  sobbed  around  the  gables; 
it  rattled  at  closed  shutters,  and  went  wailing  ofE  in  long, 
lamentable  cries. 

The  guilty  woman,  lying  there  alone,  shuddered  as  she 
listened. 

**  A  fit  night,"  she  thought — "  a  fit  night  for  such  dark, 
sinful,  plotting  wretcbes  as  he  and  I  to  be  abroad.  To  think 
that  I  am  in  his  power — the  power  of  such  a  cold-blooded  vil- 
lain as  that!  After  all  my  scheming,  all  my  labor,  all  my 
lies!    Surely  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  has  found  me  out!" 

ThiJ  clock  struck  nine — only  half  an  hour  now.  Still  she 
lay  there  in  the  darkness,  listening  to  the  dreary  shrieking  of 
the  wind,  motionless  as  marble. 

The  house  was  very  still.  Mme.  Varneck  had  retired  to 
her  own  apartments;  the  servants  were  assembled  in  the  large, 
cheery  kitchen.  It  was  easy  enough  to  quit  the  house  unob> 
served  now. 

A  little  before  half  past  nine  she  rose  and  lighted  one  of  the 
wax  tapers  standing  on  her  dressing-table.     The  palo  glimmer 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN"    OOWER. 


Ill 


sho/ed  her  ghastly  white,  with  burning  black  eyes,  and  every 
feature  set  rigid  as  marble. 

Her  dress  needed  no  change;  it  was  dark  and  noiseless. 
She  threw  a  water-proof  cloak  around  her,  drew  the  hood  over 
her  head,  opened  the  door,  locked  it  securely,  and  flitted  away. 

As  she  well  knew,  the  halls  and  stair- ways  were  quite  de- 
serted. She  opened  the  house  door  without  meeting  a  soul, 
and  passed  out  into  the  black,  windy  night. 

It  was  very  dark.  The  black  sky  seemed  settling  down  on 
the  tops  of  the  surging  trees,  and  great  rain-drops  were  already 
beginning  to  fall.  But  she  knew  her  way  well,  and  she  sped 
along  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  avenue,  and  down  to 
where  stood  the  hoary  old  elm. 

"  True  to  your  tryst,"  a  well-known  voice  said,  **  as  1  knew 
you  would  be.  Bravest,  most  admirable  of  women,  how  caa 
i  ever  thank  you  for  braving  the  inclemency  of  this  wild  nighty 
and  meeting  me  here?    With  your  terrible  headache,  too! 

He  laughed  softly — his  most  derisive  laugh. 

It  was  so  dark  she  had  not  seen  him  until  he  stepped  foiv 
ward  from  the  shadow  of  the  tree.  Even  then  she  could 
make  out  but  indistinctly  the  outline  of  his  form.  That  dark- 
ness hid  from  him  as  well  the  fierce,  vindictive  look  of  deadly 
hatred  with  which  her  eyes  gleamed. 

*'  You  mocking  demon!"  she  hissed.  "  I  wonder  you  are 
not  afraid!  I  wonder  you  are  not  afraid  I  shall  murder  you 
where  you  stand!" 

Again  he  laughed,  and  the  words  are  poor  and  weak  to  tell 
all  the  bitter  derision  and  scorn  of  that  laugh. 

**  Afraid  of  you,  my  dainty  Adelia?  Oh,  no,  my  dear! 
Afraid  you  will  murder  me?  No,  no,  no!  You  tried  that 
little  game  with  Gerald  Rosslyn,  poor  devil!  but  you  won't  try 
it  with  Jules  Dandin!  No,  we  won't  murder  each  other;  we 
will  be  sensible  and  leave  out  high  tragedy,  and  you  will  do 
everything  1  say,  and  I— well,  I  won't  hang  you!" 

He  heard  her  drawing  her  breath  hard,  he  heard  her  teeth 
clinch;  but  the  madness  blazing  in  those  burning  black  eyes 
he  could  not  see. 

**  Some  clever  person  said  once  the  worse  use  you  can  put  a 
man  to  is  to  hang  him.  I  agree  with  that  clever  person.  I 
might  hang  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Varneck,  but  since  I  can  put 
ycu  to  ever  so  much  better  use,  why  on  earth  should  I?  Be- 
sides, if  I  were  an  enemy  of  yours — which  I  am  not,  of  course. 
— there  is  another  capital  punishment  I  can  inflict,  hardly  sec- 
ond  to  the  hanging.  I  might  separate  you  from  our  gallant 
colonel — our  handsome,  gullible,  idolized  husband." 


f> 


112 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


**  Why  have  you  brought  me  here?"  she  demanded^  in  a 
shrill,  piercing  voice.  **  Was  it  to  drive  me  mad  with  your 
taunts?  Take  care,  man  I  If  you  have  an  object  in  view, 
better  not  drive  me  mad  before  you  attain  it." 

"  Very  true — sensibly  put.  Why  should  we  recriminate? 
I  hold  you  under  my  heel.  I  can  crush  you  as  I  would  a 
worm  at  any  instant.  You  know  that.  You  are  a  clever 
woman  and  a  wise  woman,  and  you  will  not  resist  an  absolute 
power.  You  will  yield  gracefully,  since  yield  you  must.  You 
will  do  everything  I  demand  without  demur." 

•*  And  what  do  you  want?" 
'    **  At  last — there  it  is  in  plain,  homely  English.     What  do  1 
want?    Fairest  Adelia,  what's  the  great  want  of  the  world?" 

**  Not  that  name!"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot — **  not 
that  name,  on  your  peril!  I  am  Eleanor  Varneck — the  only 
Eleanor  Varneck  alive.  Don't  dare  call  me  by  that  abhorred 
title!" 

**  As  you  please.  What  does  it  signify— Adelia  or  Eleanor — 
Asjpasia  or  Jezebel?    Any  of  them  will  answer." 

What  did  you  mean  that  night  by  telling  me  she  was 
alive?"  she  asked,  uttering  at  length  the  question  that  had 
been  rankling  in  her  mind  so  long.  **  You  knew  the  asser- 
tion was  the  falsest  of  untruths!" 

Captain  Dandin  smiled  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  He 
saw  that  she  believed  this  at  least — firmly  believed  in  her  sis- 
ter's death,  and  it  was  no  part  of  his  present  policy  to  unde- 
ceive her.     She  was  secure  enough  in  his  power  without  that. 

'*  Perhaps;  let  it  go.  You  took  her  death  for  granted  five 
years  ago.  She  has  not  turned  up  since — no  doubt  she 
starved  her  miserable  life  out,  and  fills  a  pauper's  grave. 
But  that  is  beside  the  question;  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
her.  A  live  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion.  Pardon  the 
simile — coarse  but  forcible.  Let  us  come  to  what  I  want 
Dear  lady,  it  is  the  universal  want — money. " 

"  And  I  have  none." 

'*  No?  But  you  can  get  it.  Oh,  yes,  you  can!  The  big 
brown  colonel  will  give  you  half  his  kingdom  if  you  ask  for  it. 
Still,  I  will  not  be  so  hard  on  you  as  that.  Five  thousand 
dollars  within  the  next  eight  days  will  do  for  the  present.  A 
paltry  pittance,  but  then  1  am  an  easy  man." 

**  It  is  utterly  impossible." 

**  Dear  Mrs.  Colonel  Varneck,  I  know  no  such  word.  1 
don't  know  how  you  are  to  get  it;  I  only  know  that  I  most 
have  it  within  the  next  eight  dayfs.'* 

'*AndifIfaU?" 


»> 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    QOWER. 


113 


•*  If  you  fail — well,  it  will  be  rather  serious  for  you,  since  I 
will  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  all  to  the  confiding  colonel.  And 
yo'i  are  so  fond  of  him.  Mon  Dieu  !  my  heart  bleeds  at  the 
thought" 

"  Enough,"  she  said,  hoarsely.  **  You  shall  have  it — you 
must.     And  for  that  sum  you  will  swear  eternal  secrecy?" 

"  Swear?  Dear  lady,  I  will  swear  ten  thousand  oaths  if  you 
wish — I  don't  share  the  vulgar  prejudice  about  kissing  the 
Book.  Oaths  or  words,  it  is  all  the  same  to  Dandin.  But  if 
you  ask  if  five  thousand  dollars  is  the  price  of  my  secrecy  for- 
ever, I  answer  no — emphatically  no!  That  is  but  a  sop  to 
Cerberus.     1  want  your  diamonds. " 

The  words  rolled  out  like  bullets.     She  fairly  uttered  a  cry: 

"  What?" 

**  Your  diamonds,  fairest  Adelia— nay,  I  beg  pardon, 
Eleanor— those  magnificent  family  jewels  I  saw  blazing  on 
your  neck  and  arms,  and  fingers  and  ears,  the  night  of  tl/ 
ball. 


?> 


**  Wretch!  extortioner!"  she  cried,  passionately.  "  I  wiU 
not.  For  centuries  they  have  been  the  pride  of  the  Varnecks' 
most  cherished  heir-looms.     I  tell  you  1  will  not." 

"  Then  it  is  quite  time  they  changed  hands.  Madame,  ma- 
dame,  madame,  don't  be  silly!  Why  say  no  in  that  frantic 
manner,  since  you  know  it  must  be  yes?  You  must  give  me 
the  diamonds. " 

In  the  darkness  he  heard  the  wretched  woman's  cry  of  rage 
^nd  despair,  and  the  sweetest  music  earth  ever  heard  could 
not  have  sounded  one  half  so  sweet  to  the  man. 

**  That  unearthly  groan  means  yes,"  he  said,  triumphant- 
ly. **  Dearest  Mrs.  Varneck,  the  fraud  will  never  be  found 
out.  I  will  send  you  a  set  of  pasue  brilliants  from  New  York 
to  replace  them,  so  exactly  alike  that  not  one  in  a  thousand 
will  be  able  to  tell  the  difference.  The  diamonds  I  must  have 
to-morrow. " 

Is  this  all?"  she  asked,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

By  no  means— only  the  beginning.  Come,  I  will  make  a 
compact  with  you — a  fair  and  honorable  bargain.  You  have 
heard  of  men  who  sold  their  souls  to  the— well,  his  Satanic 
Majesty.  They  sold  those  pitiful  souls  of  theirs  for  wealth 
and  honor  for  a  certain  term  of  years,  and  I  dare  say,  if  all 
was  known,  his  Satanic  Majesty  had  the  worst  of  the  bargain. 
Now,  that  is  what  I  want  you  to  a^,  or  something  very  like 
it  For  the  next  eight  years  I  agree  to  keep  your  secret  in- 
violable on  condition  that  you  give  me  ^ve  thousand  dollars  a 


(fc 


(( 


rV  I 


114 


THE    HEIKE88    OP    GLEN    GOWEK, 


year  for  that  time.  1  sell  myself  cheap^  dear  lady — dirt 
cheap. " 

**  And  at  the  end  of  that  time?" 

**  At  the  end  of  that  time  1  am  free  once  more — my  prom- 
ise goes  no  further.  1  make  no  threats — I  make  no  promises. 
*  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  *  For  eight  years 
wealth,  honor,  a  happy  home,  the  love  of  the  man  you  adore 
— all  will  be  yours  for  five  thousand  dollars  per  annum. 
Cheap,  cheap,  cheap!  Dear  lady,  the  rain  begins  tofallj  it 
wears  late — say  yes." 

"Yes." 

The  monosyllable  fell  from  her  lips  like  a  stone.  Even  the 
oool  captain  was  a  little  startled,  but  in  the  pitchy  darkness 
he  could  not  see  her  face. 

**  Then  give  me  your  hand." 

She  stretched  it  out  with  the  most  blood-chilling  laugh  he 
had  ever  heard  outside  a  mad-house. 

**  My  hand?  Oh,  yes  I  I  have  sold  you  my  soul — why  not. 
seal  the  bond?    Is  there  anything  else?" 

**  There  is  nothing  else.  We  can  trust  each  other,  I  think. 
I  never  break  a  promise,  and  woe  to  you,  Adelia  Lyon,  it  you 
break  yours.  Will  you  take  my  arm  and  come  in?  The  rain 
is  falling  heavily." 

"No." 

**  You  will  be  wet,  Mrs.  'Varneck — drenched  to  the  skin. 
Better  come  in. " 

"No." 

**  You  will  be  missed — they  will  be  locking  up  the  house. 
Do  come." 

"No." 

"  The  colonel  will  return;  he  will  find  you  out.  For  pity's 
sake,  don't  be  a  fool.     Come  in. " 

"  No!"  she  shrieked,  with  a  sudden  frenzied  outburst; 
"  no,  I  tell  you — nol  1  will  not  go  in.  What  do  I  care  for 
the  rain?  Leave  me,  wretch,  monster,  devil,  or  I  will  strangle 
you  where  you  stand!" 

Captain  Dandin  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away. 

*'  *  When  a  woman  won't,  she  won't,'  he  muttered,  *  and 
there's  an  end  on't'  Well,  good-night,  Mrs,  Varneck;  if  you 
catch  the  influenza,  don't  blame  me. " 

She  never  heeded  him;  she  fell  flat  on  her  face  in  the  wet 
grass.  The  rain  beat  pitilessly  down  upon  her,  the  wind  flut- 
tered her  garments — she  never  felt  them.  For  the  time  be- 
in^,  she  was  really  mad — mad  with  rage  and  remorse,  and 
misery  and  despair.     She  forgot  everytbiiig-^lier  husband's 


THE   HEIRESS    OF    OLEK    OOWER. 


lU 


years 
adore 
num. 
ill;  it 


n  the 
kness 


return^  the  raging  storm,  her  own  danger.  She  lay  there 
prone  on  the  drenched  earth,  as  miserable  a  woman  as  ever 
the  black  night  hid. 

She  arose  at  last,  chilled  to  the  heart,  drenched  to  the  bone. 
What  time  had  passed  she  knew  not — hours,  perhaps — cent' 
uries  of  anguish  f '  ley  had  been  to  her.  She  arose  and  stag- 
gered through  the  darkness  to  the  house.  The  front  door 
stood  wide;  the  hall  was  brightly  lighted.  A  servant  who  had 
sat  up  for  his  master  was  holding  the  door  open,  and  beside 
him,  pallid  with  consternation,  was  Colonel  Varneck. 

**  For  God's  sake,  Eleanor!" 

He  caught  the  drenched,  ghastly  specter  in  his  arms,  but 
with  a  piercing  maniacal  scream  she  tied  from  him. 

**  Let  me  go!"  she  cried — **  let  me  go,  Gilbert,  or  you  will 
drive  me  msSl" 


CHAPTER  XVIll. 

BY  THE  STATUE  OP  NIOBE. 

A  HOPELESSLY  wet  day,  a  black  sky,  a  drenched  earth,  a 
wailing  wind — a  cold,  raw,  cheerless  first  of  Octorber.  A 
bad  day  for  Captain  Dandin's  journey,  and  in  the  2:50  a.  m. 
train  that  gallant  foreigner  was  to  leave  Baltimore. 

He  sat  down-stairs  in  the  library  with  Colonel  Varneck, 
smoking  a  parting  cigar.  The  window  was  open,  and  the 
bleak  wind  blew  in  their  faces,  but  neither  of  the  men  seemed 
to  heed  it.  Captain  Dandin  smoked,  and  watched  the  scud- 
ding clouds  with  an  impassive  countenance,  but  Gilbert  Var- 
neck wore  the  darkest  look  of  gloom  that  ever  the  captain  had 
seen  on  his  face.  He  glanced  at  him  furtively  from  time  to 
time,  understanding  it  all. 

**  What  fools  women  are!*'  he  thought,  **  even  the  cleverest 
of  them.  The  feminine  brain  is  capable  of  conceiving  the 
boldest  and  most  original  of  plots—the  feminine  intellect  is 
capable  of  daringly  carrying  it  through  to  the  end.  But  once 
lay  a  strain  on  the  feminine  heart,  and  pouf!  a  child  could  up- 
set their  brightest  schemes.  A  woman  in  love  is  a  woman  no 
sensible  man  will  trust.  To  think  that  that  infatuated  creat- 
ure should  stay  out  beneath  the  pouring  rain  last  night  until 
midnight,  and  then  come  reeling  home  under  her  husband's 
scandalized  eyes!  No  wonder  he  thmks  her  mad.  1  believe, 
in  my  soul,  there  is  a  screw  loose  somewhere — a  blue  lookout 
for  me.  I  hope  she  won't  forget  the  diamonds,  and  *  time  is 
pn  the  wing.' " 

No«  she  had  not  forgotten.      Through  all  the  miaeiy. 


116 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    OOWER. 


1: 


5; 


!t-:, 


I 


through  all  the  madness  of  that  most  wretched  night  and 
morning,  she  remembered  her  compact.  While  the  two  men 
smoked  and  watched  the  ceaseless  rain,  she  lay  on  her  bed, 
white  and  haggard,  suffering  such  tortures  as  lost  souls  alone 
suffer.  She  was  ir  this  man's  power — hopelessly,  irretrieva- 
bly. She  must  obey,  command  as  he  mifijht.  No  slave  on 
her  husband's  estate  was  one  iota  more  of  a  slave  than  she. 

She  arose  at  last.  It  was  drawing  near  noon,  and  the  jewels 
must  be  delivered.  The  long,  white  folds  of  her  dreesing- 
gownfell  loose  about  her;  her  great,  haggard  black  eyes  looked 
out  with  stony  despair  from  her  rigid  face.  She  drew  the 
casket  of  gold  and  velvet  from  its  hiding-place,  opened  it  with 
a  little  key  attached  to  her  watch-chain,  and  stood  long  and 
earnestly  regarding  them.  The  magnificent  jewels  blazed 
amid  the  ruby  velvet — a  dazzling  river  of  light  and  splendor 
— almost  priceless  in  their  worth.  She  had  a  true  woman's 
love  for  jewels,  and  the  haggard  eyes  seemed,  in  their  greedy 
intensity,  to  literally  devour  the  gems. 

**  The  tears  were  in  Madame  Varneck's  eyes  when  she  gave 
me  these,"  she  thought,  '*  as  she  kissed  and  blessed  her  only 
son's  wife.  Oh,  my  God  I  if  she  only  knew  what  a  lost,  aban- 
doned wretch  I  am. " 

She  closed  the  casket,  relocked  it  hastily,  as  though  afraid 
to  trust  herself  longer  before  their  glorious  dazzle,  and,  with  a 
steady  step,  quitted  the  room.  She  went  straight  to  the 
apartment  of  Captain  Dandin  and  tapptd  at  the  door.  It 
was  opened  by  the  captain  himself. 

'*  At  last!"  he  said.  "  1  left  the  colonel  half  an  hour  ago, 
and  have  been  impatiently  awaiting  you  here  ever  since. 
Pray  come  in.  It  won't  do  to  talk  in  the  passage,  with  those 
prying  prigs  of  servants  about.     Have  you  the  diamonds?" 

He  spoke  abruptly,  his  sallow  face  flushed,  his  eager,  black 
eyes  alight.  He  knew  the  value  of  those  superb  heir-looms 
•ven  better  than  she  did. 

3he  handed  him  the  casket. 

'*  Ah!  true  to  your  word.  Ten  thousand  thanks,  dear  ladyl 
Where  is  the  key?" 

She  unfastened  it  from  her  watch-chain  and  handed  it  to 
him,  still  in  silence. 

**  Thanks  once  more.  I  don't  doubt  your  word,  dear  lady 
— Heaven  forfend!  But  still  it  is  as  well  to  be  business-lika 
Here  they  are.  Ah!  how  they  blaze — a  perfect  bed  of  fire! 
The  Yarnecks  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  the  family  dia- 
monds.    Thanks,  Mrs.  '\^rneck,  again  and  again.    You  art 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWER. 


117 


ht  and 
vo  men 
er  bed, 
s  alone 
)trieva- 
ave  on 
3he. 

jewels 
eesing- 
looked 
ew  the 
it  with 
igand 
blazed 
•lend  or 
)man'8 
greedy 

e  gave 

>r  only 

aban- 

afraid 
with  a 
io  the 
r.     It 

rago, 
since, 
those 

I?" 

black 
looms 


lady  I 
it  to 

lady 
■lika 

fire! 

dia- 
i  art 


:?.: 


the  honorable  lady  1  took  you  for,  and  they  are  all  here,  not  a 
stone  missing.     Now,  about  the  money?'* 

He  closed  the  casket  and  faced  her,  with  his  sinister  smile 
at  its  brightest. 

**  I  leave  to-day,  you  know,"  he  said.  **  Adam  quitting 
Paradise  once  again.  I  remain  in  New  York  a  fortnight, 
which  will  give  you  ample  time  to  obtain  the  five  thousand. 
My  stopping-place  is  the  Astor.  I  shall  look  for  a  letter 
within  six  days." 

**  You  shall  have  it,"  she  said,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 
**  Is  there  anything  else?" 

**  There  is  nothing  else,  most  admirable  of  women.  We 
understand  each  other  fully.  We  will  each  of  us  hold  to  our 
compact.  Once  a  year  you  will  hear  from  me;  once  a  year  I 
will  receive  five  thousand  dollars  from  you.  When  the  eight 
years  expire  we  will  meet  once  more,  face  to  face. " 

**  And  then?"  she  asked,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

Captain  Dandin  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed. 

**  And  then?  Who  knows?  1  make  no  threats.  1  utter 
no  promises.     Then  1  am  free." 

*'  To  ruin  me?" 

**  Ruin  is  an  ugly  word,  dear  lady.  Why  use  it?  1  say 
nothing.  Why  project  ourselves  into  the  future?  *  Let  us 
crown  ourselves  with  roses  before  they  fade,*  saith  the  French 
proverb.  Take  the  goods  the  gods  provide  for  the  next  eight 
years.  It  is  a  long  time,  dear  Mrs.  Varneck,  and  never  look 
beyond." 

**  You  say  well,"  Eleanor  Varneck  said,  in  the  same  un- 
natural tone.  **  I  will  take  the  bliss  of  the  present  and  never 
look  forward.  Why  should  I,  since  the  hour  that  sees  you 
betray  me  sees  you  die?  Yes,  Captain  Dandin  " — her  eyes 
blazed  up  with  their  old  fire — **  you  will  learn  then  what  it  is 
to  drive  a  reckless  woman  to  desperation.  By  dagger,  by  pis- 
tol, or  by  poison,  as  sure  as  there  is  a  Heaven  above  us,  the 
hour  that  sees  you  betray  my  secret  sees  you  die!" 

Captain  Dandin  laughed  aloud,  the  mocking  laugh  of  a 
triumphant  demon. 

"  Fairest  Adelia — no,  no,  Eleanor — threatened  men  live 
long,  and  barking  dogs  seldom  bite.  What  jewels  of  truth 
there  are  in  the  heads  of  these  homely  proverbs.  Never 
threaten,  dear  Mrs.  Varneck.  It  is  infallibly  the  sign  of  a 
weak  mind.  Let  us  say  good-bye — let  us  part  friends.  We 
will  not  threaten  each  other.  We  will  simply  hold  our 
tongues,  and  when  the  time  comes  we  will  act" 


i 


118 


THE    HEIRESS    0*    GLEN    OOWER, 


He  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  pass  out,  and  then  th« 
mortal  enemiea  parted  in  ominous  poaoe. 

Captain  Dandin  bade  farewell  to  his  friends  at  Glen  Gower, 
and  was  driven  to  the  station  by  the  colonel  himself.  Mrs. 
Varneck  was  too  ill  to  appear,  and  the  gallant  captoin  was 
loud  in  his  regrets,  and  left  the  politest  of  remembrances  for 
her.     He  kissed  little  Dora  with  fatherly  effusion. 

*'  When  1  return  to  Glen  Gower  I  will  bring  my  little  girl," 
ho  said:  **  and  how  charmed  my  willful  Fairy  will  be  with  the 
delightful  little  heiress  of  Glen  Gowei !" 

The  two  men  parted,  and  Gilbert  Varneck  returned  home. 
The  rain  still  fell;  the  sky  was  still  inky  black;  the  October 
afternoon  was  already  begmnlng  to  darken  when  he  reached 
the  house. 

He  went  straight  to  his  wife's  room.  A  horrible  dread  for 
her  possessed  him  body  and  soul.  She  was  losing  her  reason. 
What  was  it  but  madeness — her  frantic  conduct  of  last  night? 

Mrs.  Yarnecic  lay  on  a  sofa,  half  buried  amid  pillows  of 
crimson  silk,  her  white  face,  looking  out  from  the  glowing 
color,  awfully  death-like  and  still.  She  was  not  asleep.  The 
hollow  black  eyes  stared  blankly  before  her  with  an  expression 
of  unutterable  weariness.  Body  and  soul  she  was  tired,  worn 
out,  wearied  to  death  of  this  endless  plotting,  treachery  and 
lies. 

Her  husband  bent  above  her  and  kissed  the  wan  cheek  with 
a  look  of  infinite  tenderness  and  compassion  in  his  cloudless 
blue  eyes. 

**  My  poor,  pale  darling!"  he  said,  pityingly — **  my  *  rare, 
pale  Margaret!'  what  shall  I  do  to  bring  back  the  lost  roses  to 
those  marble  cheeks?" 

She  laid  her  head  on  the  faithful,  trusting  heart  that  daily 
and  hourly  she  was  betraying,  with  a  long,  heart-sick  shudder. 

**  Only  love  me  and  pity  me,  dear,  for  I  am  very  miser- 
able!" 

**  And  wherefore,  my  Eleanor?  Why  should  you  be  miser- 
able?   We  all  love  you.     What  need  is  there  for  our  pity?" 

'*  Ah,  you  donH  know — you  don't  know!  and  I  dare  not 
tell!" 

**  My  wife,  is  there  one  secret  in  your  heart  you  dare  not 
tell  your  husband?" 

"  Oh,  least  of  all  to  you — least  of  all  the  world  to  you. 
Gilbert!  Gilbert!  my  love!  my  husband!  don't  ask  mel" 

He  grew  very  pale  as  he  listened  to  her  wild  words.  He 
could  feel  her  trembling  like  an  aspen  in  his  arms. 

**  1  must  ask  you,  Eleanor!"  he  cried,  almost  passionately* 


uH   EEIBESS    OF  SIEN    GOWER. 


4.* 


:3 


;i> 


m 


"If on  miiBt  tell  me!  You  are  driving  me  wild  with  all  thii 
mystery— with  all  this  dospaiririK  grief!  CJau  you  doubt  my 
love?  Can  you  think  so  basely  of  me  as  to  imagine  anything 
can  sever  me  from  my  wife?  Oh,  my  dearest!  lay  aside  these 
foolish  fears.  Trust  as  well  as  love.  Open  your  heart  to  me; 
tell  me  all  your  troubles.  You  must  tell  me,  Ekauor,  for 
you  are  killing  me!*' 

She  looked  up  in  his  pale,  agitated  face,  and  saw  the  living 
truth  of  his  words. 

**  Forgive  me — forgive  mo!"  she  exclaimed.  **  It  was  to 
save  you  puin  1  did  it.  But,  come  what  will,  you  shall  know 
all — come  what  will,  the  mystery  will  end.  Gilbert,  yesterday 
1  received  a  letter.  You  know  how  nervous  and  excitable  I 
am.  That  letter  nearly  drove  me  mad.  I  could  not  rest.  I 
fled  from  the  house  to  weep  out  my  despair  alone  under  the 
black  night  sky.  I  forgot  the  flight  of  time — forgot  every- 
thing but  my  own  misery,  and — you  found  me,  Gilbert." 

**  Have  you  that  letter?"  he  asked. 

**Ihave." 

'*  Show  it  to  ae?' 

**  Gilbert,  p.ty  me — for^/ve  me!  1  have  deceived  you — de- 
ceived you  from  flrst  to  last!  But  my  deception  is  at  an 
end.  Do  with  me  in  your  anger  as  you  will.  Here  is  the 
fatal  letter. " 

She  drew  a  folded  paper  from  her  pocket.  Gilbert  Var- 
neck,  very,  very  pale,  took  it,  opened  and  read  it.  It  was 
written  in  a  man's  hand — a  big,  slap-dash  fist — on  the  coarsest 

paper: 

New  York,  Sept.  26tli,  18—. 

**  Dear  Nell, — You'll  open  your  big  black  eyes  a  little,  I 
dare  say,  when  they  light  on  this,  for  I'm  about  the  last  chap 
alive  you  expected  to  hear  from.  You'll  be  glad  to  hear  (or 
if  you  are  not,  you  ought  to  be)  that  I'm  out  of  limbo  once 
more — time  is  up,  and  I'm  as  free  as  air.  Of  course,  the  first 
thing  1  did,  on  leaving  the  stone  jug,  was  to  inquire  about  the 
family.  Judge  of  my  grief  on  hearing  the  governor  was  dead 
— judge  of  my  delight  on  hearing  you  had  found  your  rich 
husband,  and  were  living  in  the  tallest  sort  of  clover,  down  in 
Maryland!  Now,  my  dear  Nell,  here's  what's  the  matter — 
you've  more  money,  I  expect,  than  you  know  what  to  do 
with,  and  I  haven't  a  rap — not  a  farthing  to  bless  myself 
with;  a  very  unfair  division,  as  you  must  own.  What  I  pro- 
pose is  this — you  send  me  five  thousand  dollars  immediately 
upon  receipt  of  this,  and  I'll  quit  an  ungrateful  country  and 
leave  you  in  peace.    You  refuse,  and  by  all  the  gods  and  god' 


if 


130 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    QOWER. 


desses,  I'll  go  down  to  Maryland,  and  I'll  blow  the  family 
secret  far  and  wide,  and  disgrace  you  forever,  before  your  hus- 
bcTid  and  his  aristocratic  relations!  I'll  be  a  drunkard  and  a 
thief,  and — in  short,  Til  be  as  bad  a  scoundrel  as  I  know  how, 
and  i  leave  you  to  guess  what  that  means.  Send  me  the 
money,  or  you'll  be  sorry.  Don't  send  checks;  they  are 
tro?iblesome  things.  Send  a  pile  of  bank-notes,  by  express,  to 
the  following  address,  and  show  yourself  a  loving  sister  to 

**  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"James  Graham." 

Colonel  Varneck  read  this  insolent  epistle  with  a  face  of 
blank  amaze. 

*'  For  Heaven's  sake,  Eleanor,"  he  said,  **  what  does  it  all 
mean?  *  Your  affectionate  brother!'  What  is  the  scoundrel 
thinking  of?    You  have  no  brother." 

**  I  told  you  I  had  deceived  you,"  sobbed  his  wife,  covering 
her  face.  **  1  have  a  brother — a  half-brother,  at  least.  I 
never  told  you  before;  1  never  would  have  told  you,  for  he 
was  the  shame  and  disgrace  of  our  family.  He  broke  my  poor 
mother's  heart  I  never  expected  to  hear  of  him  again  in  this 
world,  and  now  he  has  come,  in  the  hour  of  my  happiness,  to 
torment  me  and  drive  me  wild!" 

She  sobbed  hysterically.  Gilbert  listened,  with  a  face  of 
densest  bewilderment,  but  yet  of  intense  relief. 

What  was  this  to  the  vague,  frightened  doubts  that  had 
been  making  his  existence  a  misery? 

"  Eleanor,  be  calm,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  all  about  this. 
There  is  no  need  of  all  these  tears — tell  me  about  this 
brother. " 

"  He  was  my  mother's  son  by  her  first  husband,"  Mrs. 
Varneck  sobbed.  '*  She  was  married  twice.  From  his  very 
boyhood  he  was  vicious  and  reckless  and  unprincipled — the 
worst  boy  I  ever  knew.  As  he  grew  up,  his  vices  grew  with 
him ;  he  was  a  liar,  a  thief,  and  a  drunkard.  Still  my  poor 
mother  bore  with  him,  still  my  kind  father  would  not  cast 
him  off.  Finally,  a  year  or  two  before  I  met  you,  he  com- 
mitted a  most  daring  burglary,  was  detected,  tried,  and  sen- 
tenced to  eleven  years'  imprisonment  at  hard  labor.  1  never 
spoke  of  him  to  you — 1  could  not,  Gilbert;  and,  besides,  my 
father  had  forbidden  our  ever  mentioning  his  degraded  name. 
There  is  his  story.  How  he  ever  came  to  discover  mine. 
Heaven  knows,  but  discover  it  he  has.  Do  you  wonder  now 
that,  receiving  that  horrible  letter  yesterday,  1  nearly  went 


TBE    HEIRESS    OF    6LEK    GOWEB. 


121 


9> 


toad  with  shame  and  terror?  Gilbert,  I  shall  die  if  that 
If  retch  comes  here  I"  » 

She  uttered  the  last  words  with  a  frantic  cry.  Colonel  Var- 
neck  soothed  her  as  he  might  a  child. 

**Be  content,  my  Eleanor;  he  shall  not  come.  Why,  you 
foolish  little  woman,  is  this  your  terrible  secret  of  guilt  and 
despair — the  fearful  mystery  you  dare  not  tell  me?** 

He  smiled  brightly  down  upon  her,  unutterably  relieved. 

She  could  not  meet  that  frank,  honest  smile — she  hid  her 
guilty,  false  face  for  very  shame. 

*'  Is  it  not  enough?  Would  he  not  disgrace  me  for  life  by 
coming  here?  Think  of  your  mother's  pride — think  of  the 
neighbors'  gossip!  Oh,  it  drives  me  deranged  only  to  fancy 
it!" 

"  Don't  fancy  it,  then.     We  shall  not  let  him  come." 

**  But,  Gilbert,  the  alternative — the  insolent,  presumptuous 
wretch!    You  know  it  is  simply  impressible." 

*'  What!  to  close  a  vile  mouth  with  a  bribe?  Not  in  the 
least  impossible!  1  would  give,  willingly,  gladly,  five  thou- 
sand, i,  :n  thousand  dollars  rather  than  suiter  again  what  you 
have  made  me  suffer  since  last  night.  We  will  send  this  black 
sheep  the  money  he  asks  for,  and  then  we  will  forget  him. 
And,  Nelly,  my  dear,  foolish  wife,  you  must  promise  never 
to  have  a  secret  from  me  again. " 

She  fiung  her  arms  around  him  and  burst  out  into  a  hyster- 
ical storm  of  weeping.  They  were  not  false  tears  this  time. 
She  was  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  hysterical  emotion. 
The  generosity  of  the  man  she  loved,  and  was  so  basely  de- 
luding, touched  her  to  the  core  of  her  heart. 

**  How  good  you  are — how  good  you  are!"  she  cried,  hys- 
terically; and  to  such  a  false,  wicked  creature  as  I  am!  Oh, 
Gilbert!  will  I  ever  be  worthy  of  such  love  as  yours?" 

**  Hush,  my  darling!  those  are  idle  words  between  us. 
Compose  yourself.  It  troubles  me  more  than  I  can  say  to  see 
you  in  this  wildly  excited  state.  There,  be  calm;  try  to  sleep. 
I  will  leave  you  now.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  place  the 
five  thousand  dollars  in  your  hands,  and  we  will  blot  from  our 
memory  this  unpleasant  little  episode.  For  the  future,  Gil- 
bert Varneck's  wife  must  have  no  secrets." 

He  laid  her  among  the  pillows  with  a  fond,  parting  caress 
and  quitted  the  room;  and  once  again  the  crafty,  conspiring 
woman  was  left  alone  with  her  maddening  remorse. 

Colonel  Varneck  was  prompt  to  keep  bis  word.  Next  day 
^t  noon,  as  she  sat  alone  at  the  piano,  he  handed  her  a  pack- 
Age  done  up  in  brown  paper,  with  a  smile. 


122 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


'*  A  gag  for  your  tell-tale  brother,  Nelly.  Send  it  off  as 
soon  as  may  be,  and  tell  him  your  husband  knows  all,  and 
that  if  he  dares  to  show  himself  here,  we'll  horsewhip  him  into 
the  Chesapeake.  ** 

Without  waiting  to  be  thanked,  save  by  one  eloquent  look, 
he  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Varneck  was  triumphant.  She  held  in 
her  hand  the  price  of  one  year's  peace. 

Early  next  morning  the  carriage  was  ordered,  and  Eleanor 
Vrtrneck  drove  rapidly  to  the  city.  There,  with  her  own 
hands,  she  dispatched  her  valuable  parcel,  but  not  directed  to 
Mr.  James  Graham. 

*fC  9|C  SIC  ^p  ^  9p  •!• 

Captain  Dandid  received  his  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
laughed  aloud  in  his  triumph  as  he  counted  over  the  crisp 
bank-notes. 

"  You're  a  wonderful  woman,  my  Adelia!"  he  said  to  him- 
self— **  a  woman  in  ten  thousand!  Now,  how  did  you  manage 
to  beg,  borrow,  or  steal  chis,  I  wonder?  My  poor  colonel — 
my  poor  confiding,  gullible  colonel!  You  are  to  be  pitied. 
But  I'll  keep  my  promise  to  you,  nevertheless.  You 
shall  have  your  handsome  wife  for  the  next  eight  years,  sup- 
posing your  handsome  wife  is  a  lady  of  her  word.  I  dare  say 
she  has  been  puzzling  her  pretty  head  in  vain,  many  a  time, 
to  discover  the  cause  of  the  eight  years'  amnesty.  Ah,  my 
lady,  you  don't  know  the  story  of  Dora  Dalton,  of  my  pretty 
Fairy,  and  how  I  tricked  you  there,  or  of  our  bright  little 
Launce  Lauriston.  In  eight  years  those  children  will  be  young 
ladies,  and  my  smart  little  Launce  a  bright-eyed  doctor,  and 
marriageable.  The  blow  that  strikes  you  will  be  all  the 
sharper  for  your  eight  years'  peace.  By  the  bye,  I  think  1 
can  afford  to  run  down  East  and  see  my  interesting  protegees." 

With  the  cool  captain  to  decide  was  to  act.  A  week  later, 
and  with  all  his  affairs  in  New  York  settled,  he  was  on  his  way 
to  Massachusetts — to  Silver  Shore.  And  late  one  blustery 
October  afternoon  the  train  set  him  down  at  the  lonely  station, 
the  only  passenger  for  the  stagnant  little  village.  Captain 
Dandin  refreshed  himself  after  his  dusty  journey  by  a  luxuri- 
ous bath  and  dinner  at  the  hotel  before  starting  for  the  cot- 
tage. The  long  village  road  was  quite  deserted  as  he  walked 
along;  lights  twinkled  already  in  the  gray  October  gloaming 
from  the  cottage  windows;  the  dead  leaves,  russet  and  red, 
whirled  in  drifts  about  him  in  the  shrill  autumn  blast  No 
other  sound,  no  other  sights  broke  the  dead  monotony  of  the 
pkce. 


K 


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THE    HEIRESS   OF    GLEN    GOWEE. 


m 


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and 
crisp 


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W 


If 


*•  *  And  I  said,  if  there's  peace  to  he  found  in  this  worl(^ 
\  A  heart  that  is  humble  might  hope  for  it  here,'  " 

quoted  the  captain,  internally.  **  And  yet  that  pretty  senti- 
ment is  only  bosh,  after  all.  Don't  we  read  every  day  of 
murders  done  in  peaceful  fields  under  the  waving  trees,  of 
robberies  committed  in  little  out-of-the-way  villages,  of  all 
the  horrors  of  the  vilest  city  puilieus  perpetrated  in  rustic 
hamlets  by  the  artless  dwellers  therein?  Yes,  human  nature 
is  the  same  in  the  green  country  lanes  and  reeking  city  alleya 
— vile,  vile,  vile!" 

The  pretty  white  cottage  among  the  climbing  roses  and 
sweet-brier  was  sparkling  with  light  as  the  captain  opened  the 
little  gate.  The  roses  were  all  dead  now,  and  only  bare  broivn 
stalks  rattled  in  the  wind,  but  the  cheery  light  of  fire  and 
lamp  streamed  ruddily  out  into  the  bleak  gloaming.  The 
shop  window  was  quite  dazzling  with  its  brave  display  of  rib* 
bons  and  roses,  and  caps  and  bonnets,  and  dolls  and  picture* 
books,  and  fancy  ware  generally. 

Captain  Dandin's  knock  was  answered  by  a  trim  little  maid, 
who  ushered  him  at  once  into  the  parlor,  where  Mrs.  Lauris* 
ton  and  her  son  sat  at  tea.  Mother  and  son  arose  with  a 
simultaneous  cry  of  surprise  and  pleasure  at  sight  of  their  yis* 
itor. 

"  Now,  don't  disturb  yourselves — don't,  1  beg!"  cried  the 
captain,  imploringly.  **  Go  on  with  your  supper,  and  I'll  sit 
here  by  this  cozy  fire  and  warm  myself.  No,  no,  nothing  for 
me;  I  dined  half  an  hour  ago  at  the  hotel.  You  didn't  expect 
me,  did  you?  Ah!  I  couldn't  quit  the  country  without  run- 
ning down  to  see  how  my  little  doctor  got  on.  Have  you  fully 
realized  the  change  yet,  Mrs.  Lauriston?" 

He  shook  hands  heartily,  forced  them  back  to  their  seats  at 
the  table,  and  spread  out  his  boots  to  the  genial  influence  of 
the  blaze. 

Very  cozy  looked  the  little  parlor  with  its  bright  fire,  its 
clean  lamp,  its  neat  supper-table  so  bountifully  spread. 

Captain  Dandin  actually  felt  a  glow  of  unselfish  pleasure  as 
he  glanced  around  and  thought:  **  All  this  is  my  work." 

**  And  how  well  you  both  are  looking!"  he  said — *'  posi- 
tively ten  per  cent,  better  than  when  1  saw  you  last.  I 
thought  the  country  air  and  the  tew  milk  and  fresh  butter 
would  work  wonders.     And  how  does  the  nice  little  shop?" 

The  nice  little  shop  did  miraculously.  The  business  had 
increased  so  greatly,  even  in  the  short  time  Mrs.  Lauriston 
had  been  there,  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  engage  a  servaat 


IH 


THE    HEIKES8    OF   GLEN    QOWEK. 


to  do  the  household  work  and  a  little  damsel  to  attend  behind 
the  counter. 

Her  own  time  was  fully  occupied  in  making  up  the  pretty 
caps,  and  bonnets,  and  collars,  and  sleeves,  and  so  forth,  of 
the  Silver  Shore  maids  and  matrons. 

Her  dark  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  color  rose  with  such  an  en- 
thusiastic flush  as  she  told  him,  that  she  looked  ten  years 
younger  and  prettier  in  a  moment. 

"  By  Jove!  she's  handsomer  than  the  other  one,*'  thought 
the  captain.  "  Dress  her  up  in  silks  and  jewels,  give  her  back 
the  husband  of  her  youth,  and  she'll  eclipse  her  completely. 
There's  a  look  in  this  face  that  Adelia  Lyon  never  wore,  and 
never  will  wear  to  her  dying  day — a  pure  and  passionless  heart, 
shining  through  pure  and  passionless  eyes." 

**  And  our  little  doctor — how  does  he?"  he  asked. 

**  First  rate,"  called  Launce,  boyishly — "  splendid,  I  tell 
you,  captain!  I  go  to  school  every  day,  and  Fm  up  head  in 
all  my  classes,  and  I  study  like  a  brick  at  home—don't  1, 
mother? — and  1  help  'tend  in  the  shop  when  Maria's  off  duty; 
and,  oh,  Captain  Dandin!  I  can  swim  like  a  fish  already,  and 
row,  and  climb  trees  like  a  squirrel.  And  Mr.  Seltzer — he 
keeps  the  drug  store  down  the  village—he  says  when  1  leave 
school,  he'll  take  me  and  teach  me  the  business;  and  that's  a 
long  step  toward  learning  to  be  a  doctor.  And,  I  tell  you, 
this  here  Silver  Shore  is  just  the  jolliest  place  out,  quiet  as  it 
looks,  and  I  wouldn't  go  back  to  Boston  to  live— no,  not  if 
you  made  me  a  present  of  it!" 

*'  Launce!  Launce!"  his  mother  said,  laughing,  **  how  you 
run  on!    What  will  Captain  Dandin  think  of  you?" 

**  What  1  thought  before — that  he's  a  brave  little  hero! 
Ah!  1  foresee  that  we  shall  have  a  physician  one  of  these  days 
that  will  make  all  the  great  medical  guns  of  the  old  world  and 
the  new  look  to  their  laurels.  Stick  to  your  books,  my  lad, 
and  mind  your  mother,  and  the  world  is  all  your  own,  to  be 
what  you  like. " 

Captain  Dandin  lingered  a  week  at  Silver  Shore— a  long, 
pleasant  week.  It  was  like  a  breathing-spell  in  the  battle  of 
life,  and  the  man  shook  off  his  cynicism  and  his  cold-blooded 
selfishness  and  let  himself  be  happy — simply  and  honestly 
happy,  like  better  men. 

He  departed,  with  munificent  presents  to  Launce  of  a  pony 
and  a  watch,  and  laden  with  the  olessings  of  mother  and  son. 

'*  You're  a  happier  woman  than  your  sister,"  he  thought, 
as  he  looked  his  last  upon  her  tea^ul,  earnest  face.  '^  She 
has  wealth  and  luxury,  and  the  man  you  both  love,  and  yoa 


■/I 

Si 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


138 


\j^  .' 


' 


are  but  a  poor  widow,  but  you  are  ten  thousand -fold  the  hap- 
pier woman  of  the  two.  Speaking  of  Mrs,  Varneck,  I've  hut 
a  mind  to  give  her  one  parting  shock  before  I  quit  the  coua* 
try;  and  I'll  do  it,  by  Jove!" 

^  ^  •!*  nC  9|i  m^  ^ 

At  Glen  Gower  preparations  went  rapidly  on  for  the  depart- 
ure of  the  family.  Little  Dora  was  to  be  placed  at  a  boarding- 
school  in  New  York,  and  her  father  was  to  take  her. 

Mrs.  Varneck  parted  with  her  only  child  very  calmly  in- 
deed; she  felt  kindly  toward  the  little  girl,  nothing  more. 
She  felt  far  more  keenly  the  brief  separation  of  two  weeks 
from  her  husband  than  the  separation  of  two  years  fr^  v^  her 
daughter. 

They  were  to  depart  almost  immediately  upon  the  return  of 
the  colonel,  Mme.  Varneck  with  them.  The  house  was  to  be 
left  in  charge  of  a  trusty  person,  and  all  necessary  prepara- 
tions were  made. 

It  was  the  evening  of  Colonel  Varneck's  return.  He  had 
telegraphed  to  them  from  Washington,  and  was  coming  in 
the  last  train.  The  carriage  was  to  meet  him  at  Baltimore, 
and  the  drive  would  occupy  some  three  hours.  It  would, 
therefore,  be  past  eleven  when  he  arrived. 

Mme.  Varneck  retired,  and  recommended  her  daughter-in- 
law  to  do  the  same;  but  Mrs.  Gilbert  insisted  upon  sitting  up 
for  her  husband.  It  was  their  first  separation,  and  the  two 
weeks  had  been  very  long  and  joyless  without  him  in  the  big, 
rambling  old  mansion.  She  was  in  a  fever  of  longing  and  ex- 
pectation to-night,  and  pulled  out  her  watch  perpetually  to 
look  at  the  hour. 

Eleven  came — in  half  an  hour  he  would  be  with  her.  She 
^rew  too  feverishly  impatient  to  wait  in  the  house,  and,  throw- 
mg  a  crimson  opera-cloak  about  her,  she  went  out  into  the 
starlit  night. 

A  silver  sickle  glanced  in  the  sky;  countless  stars  sparkled; 
a  soft  wind  stirred  the  trees;  a  holy  hush  of  night  wrapped 
earth  and  sea. 

Something  of  the  mild  beauty  of  the  scene  penetrated  her 
heart — a  sense  of  exultant  joy  filled  it.  Was  not  all  she  had 
longed  for  hers  at  last?  She  was  safe — for  eight  long  years,  at 
least — and  the  man  she  worshiped  was  all  her  own. 

'*  I  have  triumphed!'*  she  thought,  exultantly.  **  1  have 
every  desire  of  my  heart!  Henceforth  my  life  shall  be  one 
long  summer  holiday." 

She  wandered  down  a  rustic  path  leading  to  the  gate.  Tall 
white  statues  gleamed  here  and  there  iu  the  moonlight  lilst 


U>{ 


126 


THE    HEIKESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


pallid  ghosts.  She  paused  by  one— a  statue  of  Niobe— in  % 
sudden  panic  of  aflfnght,  as  her  quick  eye  detected  a  move- 
ment and  a  rustle  in  the  shrubbery. 

An  instant  later  and  a  supernaturally  tall  figure  glided  from 
among  the  trees  and  stood  before  her.  A  long,  dark  cloak 
shrouded  it,  and  a  wide-briinmed  hat  shadowed  the  face. 

Without  a  word  it  stood  stock  still,  slowly  raised  the  hat, 
and  a  face  was  plainly  revealed  in  the  moonlight — the  face  of 
a  dead  man — the  face  of  Gerald  Rosslyn! 

**  Murderess,  beware!" 

Hollow  and  unuatural  came  the  awful  words.  Stock  still 
she  stood,  rooted  to  the  spot,  frozen  there  with  horror.  An 
instant  the  dreadful  vision  confronted  her,  then  slowly,  slowly 
it  glided  backward  among  the  trees  and  disappeared. 

Colonel  Varneck,  driving  rapidly  up  the  avenue  ten  minutes 
later,  beheld  a  prostrate  figure  in  a  white  dress  and  scarlet 
shawl  lying  on  the  grass.  To  spring  out,  to  raise  it  up,  to  rec- 
ognize, with  unutterable  consternation,  the  rigid  face  of  his 
wife,  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant. 

She  had  fallen  there  in  a  dead  swoon,  as  white  and  senseless 
as  the  statue  of  Niobe  by  which  she  lay. 


Ill 


PART  11. 


;■■■  '  1. 


II 


CHAPTER  1. 

MISS  EUDORA  VARNECK. 

Moonlight  on  earth  and  ocean — moonlight  flooding  the 
purple  bosom  of  the  midnight  sea — moonlight  glorifying  the 
peaceful  little  village  of  Silver  Shore;  trees  murmuring 
drowsily  in  the  soft  July  wind;  flowers  asleep  under  the  spark- 
ling stars;  heaven  and  earth  and  sea  radiant  with  moonlight 
and  summer  beauty. 

The  young  girl  who  stood  on  the  piazza  gazing  on  this 
tranquil  brightness  was  as  fair  herself  as  the  picture  on  which 
she  gazed — great,  bright  blue-gray  eyes,  profuse,  shining 
auburn  hair  *'  done  up  "  elaborately  in  the  latest  style,  and  a 
rosy  face  of  eighteen  years,  so  brightly  pretty  that  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  look  at  it. 

She  was  all  in  white,  filmy  and  floating  with  misty  lace,  and 
sparkling  jewels  shimmering  in  the  moonlight.  An  opera- 
oloak  of  soft  scarlet  stuft  draped  her  loosely  and  set  od  the 
snowy  robes  and  tinseled  hair — a  pretty  girl  and  prettily 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    GOWEB. 


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g^gaoa — a  Southern  heiress,  juat  emancipated  fiom  a  Kew 
York  boarding-school  after  eight  weary  years — Miss  Eadora 
Varneck,  of  Glen  Gower. 

The  house  on  whose  front  piazza  she  stood  was  all  ablaie 
with  i]lumination— all  ringing  with  merry  dance-music.  It 
was  Squire  Rayfield's — Squire  Rayfield,  the  great  magnate  of 
Silver  Shore — whose  daughter  and  only  child  had  that  day 
been  married. 

There  had  been  a  stately  breakfast  after  the  ceremony,  and 
the  blissful  pair  had  departed  on  their  bridal-tour,  and  now 
the  old  squire,  in  the  happiness  of  his  heart,  was  entertaining 
all  his  old  friends  with  a  "  danceable  tea.'* 

And  Miss  Eudora  Varneck,  the  pretty  Maryland  heiress, 
had  been  first  bride-maid  on  the  auspicious  occasion,  and  was 
to  remain  the  squire's  guest  for  weeks  to  come,  until  papa  and 
mamma  and  grandmamma  should  return  from  that  prolonged 
European  tour  of  eight  years. 

They  had  been  school-mates  and  inseparable  friends — Julia 
Eayfieid  and  Eudora  Varneck — and  the  usual  promise  had 
passed — whoever  married  first,  the  other  must  be  bride-maid. 

She  had  been  scarcely  a  week  at  Silver  Shore  as  yet,  and  it 
was  her  first  glimpse  of  society,  but  she  had  already  managed 
to  distract  all  the  eligible  young  men  for  miles  around. 

She  stood  leaning  against  a  slender,  vine-wreathed  column 
now,  wonderfully  fair  in  the  dancing  moon-rays,  looking  with 
dreamy,  wistful  eyes  far  over  the  shining  sea. 

*'  And  in  three  weelis,"  she  thought,  **  they  will  be  here— 
papa,  mamma,  grandmamma.  Ah!  what  a  weary  time  it  18 
since  1  saw  them  last — eight  long  years!  Have  they  missed 
me,  I  wonder,  as  1  have  missed  them?  My  stately,  handsome 
papa,  whom  I  loved  so  dearly,  whose  letters  have  been  my  one 
delight  in  all  those  years,  to  think  that  in  three  weeks  I  shall 
meet  you  again!  And  my  beautiful  Maryland  home!  how 
heart-sick  I  have  grown  for  one  glimpse  of  it,  often  and  often, 
in  that  forlorn  old  boardirg-school!  What  a  checkered  life 
mine  has  been — only  eighteen,  and  so  eventful!  The  miser- 
able hovel  where  my  childhood  was  spent,  carrying  gin  and, 
tobacco  for  Granny  Croak;  the  dark,  beautiful  lady  who  took 
me  away  and  told  me  she  was  my  mother;  stately  Glen  Gowep 
with  its  undreamed-of  splendor;  my  hero  of  a  father;  my 
queenly  grandmamma.  Then  the  dull  routine  of  boarding- 
school  life;  then  this  pretty  village;  and  now,  best  of  all,  home 
again  in  a  month.  Thank  Heaven!  the  life  that  is  past  can 
never  return — neither  the  horrors  of  Granny  Croak  nor  the 
wretched  dullness  of  school.    I  am  glad  I  am  Eudora  Yar* 


I^ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


neck,  heiress  of  Glen  Gower,  aud  I  would  not  be  any  one  else 
tor  the  world  I" 

**  Found  at  last!"  exclaimed  a  voice  behind  her.  **  We 
thought  it  was  the  story  of  the  old  oak  chest  over  again,  with 
the  bride-maid  for  heroine  instead  of  the  bride,  and 
"  '  The  highest,  the  lowest,  the  loneliest  spot,' 
we've  searched  for  Miss  Varneck,  and  found  her  not.  Are 
you  composing  an  epic  on  *  Moonlight  on  the  Ocean/  Miss 
Eudora?*' 

Eudcra  turned  round  and  saw  a  young  man  got  up  regard- 
less of  expense. 

"Hardly,  Mr.  Lansdown;  I'm  not  clever  enough  to  com- 
pose anything;  but,  if  I  were  an  artist,  I  would  certainly  paint 
this  exquisite  scene  and  immortalize  myself.  Have  they  sent 
you  in  search  of  me?    1  did  not  think  I  would  be  missed." 

*'  As  if  the  moon  could  drop  out  of  the  sky  yonder  and  not 
be  missed!  There  have  been  a  dozen  calls  for  you  to  sing. 
Shall  we  let  them  call  a  little  longer,  or  shall  we  go  in?" 

"We  will  go  in,  1  think." 

She  passed  on  before  him  a  little  hastily.  She  had  no  desire 
for  a  solitary  tete-a-tete  by  moonlight  with  this  slender  young 
man — one  of  her  "stricken  deer."  Throwing  her  scarlet 
drapery  in  a  glowing  heap  upon  a  sofa,  she  shook  out  her  sil- 
ver plumage  and  floated  into  the  long  drawing-room. 

A  gay  group  of  girls,  surrounded,  of  course,  by  a  bevy  of 
young  men,  stood  near  the  door- way,  arid  the  "  bright,  pa'^- 
tieular  star  "  of  the  evening  was  hailed  at  once. 

"Oh,  here  she  is!"  cried  a  girlish  voice,  "and  just  it/, 
time.  Have  you  ever  had  any  hair-breadth  'scapes  by  flood 
or  field,  Eudora?  Because,  if  you  have,  you  are  more  fortu- 
nate than  the  rest  of  us.  We  are  comparing  notes,  we  girls, 
and  we  find  there  isn't  ^  heroine  among  us.  Not  one  of  us 
ever  had  anything  more  thrilling  happen  than  being  throwii 
out  of  a  buggy  or  shut  in  solitary  confinement  at  school. 
And  as  for  heroes — bah!  There  are  no  Sir  Launcelots  now 
adays.  The  young  men  are  all  alike — dye  their  mustaches, 
part  their  hair  down  the  middle,  and  do  nothing.  Have  you 
ever  had  an  adventure?" 

A  dozen  pairs  of  laughing  eyes  turned  upon  the  Maiyland 
heiress.  To  their  surprise,  a  lovely,  sensitive  flush  dyed  her 
cheeks,  and  the  pretty  face  turned  suddenly  grave. 

"  She  has,  I  declare!"  chorused  two  or  three  voices;  "  only 
look  at  her!  Oh,  do  tell  ns  what  it  wtis — runaway  slaves^ 
midnight  assassins,  or  what?" 

"  Neither,"  said  Miss  Varneck^  "  and  y^  yoa  are  quite 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    OLEN    QOWER. 


las 


■■'■:f 


flight.  1  hftTe  had  an  adventure — 1  have  been  within  a  hair's* 
breadth  of  losing  my  life.  The  most  horrible  of  all  deathf 
stared  me  in  the  face,  and  at  the  last  supreme  moment  my 
hero  came  and  snatched  me  away.  There  are  Sir  Launoelots 
in  the  world  still,  and  he  was  one.  '* 

'*  Oh,  tell  us  all  about  ill"  was  the  breathless  cry.  **  Who 
was  he?  How  did  it  happen?  Was  he  young?  Was  he  hand- 
some?" 

Miss  Varneck  laughed,  with  that  bright,  flitting  color  com- 
ing and  going  in  her  sensitive  face. 

**  Yes,  to  both  questions;  my  hero  was  young  and  hand- 
some. Who  he  was  1  don't  know.  How  it  happened  was 
this.  You  all  remember  that  dreadful  riot-week,  some  years 
ago,  in  New  York?" 

**  Yes,  yes.'' 

**  Well,  I  had  been  out  of  health  that  summer,  and  Clara 
Gore,  one  of  my  special  friends,  who  had  left  school,  invited 
me  to  come  and  accompany  them  to  their  country  house  in 
the  Highlands.  Madame  permitted  me  on  account  of  my 
health;  and,  as  the  distance  was  nothing,  I  traveled  alone.  1 
reached  the  city  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  found  everything 
in  a  state  of  appalling  conf upion — the  dreadful  riot  had  begun, 
and  men  and  women  seemed  to  be  going  mad. 

**  How  I  ever  got  to  Mr.  Gore's  house  I  don't  know — 1  was 
nearly  beside  myself  with  terror;  but  I  did  get  there,  to  find 
the  family  fled  in  dismay,  and  no  one  in  the  house  but  a 
wuple  of  servants.  Mr.  Gore  was  still  in  town,  the  head  of 
'^hose  who  strove  to  put  down  the  mob,  and  one  of  the  msot 
unpopular  men  in  the  city.  He  was  absent  when  I  arrived, 
but  was  hourly  expected.  1  went  up  to  my  room  to  await  his 
return,  trembling  with  horror  at  the  dreadful  cries  and  yells 
from  the  streets.  I  dared  not  look  out.  I  sat  crouched  in  a 
corner,  wild  with  fear,  and  wishing — oh,  how  1  wished  I  had 
never  left  school!  Ah!  1  was  not  much  of  a  heroine — very 
little  of  a  Grace  Darling  or  a  Joan  d'Arc. 

*'  Night  came — a  night  of  untold  horrors — and  brought  Mr. 
Gore.  He  looked  pale  and  fagged ;  but  he  was  full  of  pity 
for  poor  little  me. 

**  *  Try  to  keep  up  heart  a  few  hours  longer,  my  dear,'  he 
said.  *  Go  to  bed  and  sleep,  if  you  can.  Before  day-break  to- 
morrow you  will  be  safe  with  Clara. ' 

**  I  went  back  to  my  own  room,  but  not  to  bed — not  to 
sleep.  I  did  not  even  undress.  1  cowered  away  in  the  remot- 
est corner,  with  my  hands  over  my  ears  to  shut  out  the  ap- 
palling noises  without.    The  night  wore  on  somehow — that 


130 


THE   HEIRESS  OP    GLSlf    GOWE.i 


dreadlul  sammer  night — made  horrible  by  the  demoniac  y«lli 
from  the  streets.  It  was  drawing  near  midnight,  I  think,  and 
I  had  dropped  into  a  sort  of  doze,  when  a  frightful  uproar  of 
hooting,  .ybiling,  and  screeching  awolie  me.  I  started  up, 
broad  awake,  to  find  the  room  full  of  red,  glaring  light  and 
Btifling  smoke.  I  rushed  to  the  window.  There,  below,  howled 
a  maddened  mob,  armed  with  bludgeons  and  guns,  and  all 
arou*^'";  me  the  house  was  in  flames. 

* '  Jeath  to  the  villain  Gorel'  *  Shoot  him  down  like  a 
dc2:!'  *  Burn  him  and  his  vipers'  nest  out!'  were  some  of  the 
w  V  ul  cries  that  met  my  ears. 

**  The  flames  were  spreading.  1  flew  to  the  door  and  ran 
wildly  out;  but  corridors  and  stair-ways  were  one  sheet  of 
flame,  that  met  and  drove  me  back  Again  1  returned  to  the 
chamber — to  the  window.     I  threw  it  open  and  leaned  far  out. 

** '  Save  me  I'  I  cried,  wildly.  *  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  save 
my  life — save  my  life!' 

**  A  madder  yell  than  ever  answered  me.  The  red  glare  of 
the  fire  rendered  me  plainly  conspicuous  to  that  maddened 
crowd. 

"  *  life  her  burn!'  roared  a  horrible  voice.  *  Death  to  Gore 
and  all  oi  his  house!' 

"  *  Fiends!'  shouted  a  clear  voice  that  rang  like  a  trumpet 
above  the  uproar.  *  You  ought  to  be  burned  alive,  every  man 
of  you!    I'll  save  that  woman  or  I'll  perish  with  her!' 

"  1  heard  no  more — the  smoke  was  beginning  to  stifle  me. 
The  door  crashed  in;  two  strong  arms  caught  me  and  wrapped 
me  in  something — two  strong  arms  bore  me  *^^hrough  smoke 
and  flame  to  the  outer  air.  1  shall  never  forget  the  frenzied 
yells  that  greeted  us;  but  my  preserver  dashed  on  like  a  whirl- 
wind until  the  street  was  left  and  we  were  alone  together  in  a 
quic  alley.  There  he  set  me  down,  and  1  looked  in  his  face 
ioi*  the  first  time." 

**  And  he  was  young  and  handsome?"  chirped  one  of  Miss 
Varneck's  pretty  listeners. 

Eudora  looked  at  her,  and  her  whole  face  lighted  and  shone. 

**  He  looked  like  a  king — he  looked  like  a  demi-god!  I 
iiave  never  seen  his  equal  before  or  since.  We  stood  there  tot 
an  instant  under  the  peaceful  stars,  while  the  hootings  and 
yells  csjVU'd  to  us  from  tne  street  we  had  left,  and  the  midnignt 
■k~  was  all  aglow  with  the  red  light  of  the  fire. 

*  *  You  are  safe,  young  lady,'  said  my  hero.  *  What  am  I 
to  do  with  you  now? 

''  ]  held  out  both  hands  to  him  as  a  frightened  child  might 
to  its  mother. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWER. 


131 


«•  « 


Take  me  back  to  school!'  1  said,  with  a  hysterical  sob. 
•Oh,  I  shall  die— I  shall  die!* 

**  *  Let  us  hope  not.     Where  ie  your  school?' 

**  1  gave  him  the  address  of  our  Harlem  pension,  and  he 
drew  my  arm  under  his  and  led  me  away  at  a  rapid  walk.  I 
don't  know  where  we  went  or  how  he  managed,  but  he  got  a 
carriage,  and  then  we  were  whirling  over  the  ground  back  to 
Harlem.  He  never  once  addressed  me  during  the  ride.  He 
Hutj  looking  stern  as  doom,  all  the  way,  and  I,  trembling  and 
shivering,  eyed  him  askance  and  was  afraid  to  speak.  Shall  1 
ever  forget  that  wild,  midnight  ride?  We  reached  the  school 
as  morning  grew  gray,  and  my  preserver's  thundering  knock 
startled  madame  and  her  pupils  out  of  their  matutinal  sleep. 
The  door  was  opened;  madame,  scared  and  bewildered,  ap- 
peared; half  a  dozen  brief  sentences,  and  my  hero  had  told 
all,  had  lifted  me  out  of  the  carriage,  and  passed  me  over  to 
my  rightful  protectress.  I  was  safe,  and  he  was  gone,  1 
never  saw  him  from  that  day  to  this." 

Miss  Varneck  paused.  She  was  very  pale  now,  and  her  eyes 
were  glistening. 

A  chorus  of  femine  exclamations  followed.  The  men  stood 
silent,  each  looking  as  thou^^  he  wished  he  had  been  her 
"hero." 

**  How  nice— how  interesting!  Why,  Eudora,  you  are  really 
a  heroine,  only  the  romance  doesnH  end  right.  By  all  the 
laws,  poetical  and  romantic,  your  hero  should  turn  out  to  be 
the  son  of  poor  but  honest  parents,  fall  madly  in  love  with 
you,  and  you  with  him,  be  rejected  with  rage  and  scorn  by 
rapa  Varneck,  and  end  by  a  moonlight  elopement  with  his 
heiress.  To  think  you  never  saw  him  again — i.ever  even 
thanked  him  then — don't  know  his  name!  Why,  he  may  pos- 
sibly be  a  married  man.     Oh,  it's  disgraceful!" 

•*  Perfectly,"  said  young  Lansdown.  **  Meantime,  Miss 
Clififord,  here's  the  waltz  you  promised  me;  so,  if  you  can 
cease  weaving  romances  long  enough — come." 

The  group  dispersed.  Miss  Varneck,  too,  was  turning  away 
with  a  young  man  who  claimed  her  ha-xd  for  the  dance,  when 
she  suddenly  stopped  stock  still,  her  great  eyes  dilated,  her 
face  flushed,  then  turned  ashen  pale.  She  stood  like  a  statue, 
her  breath  fluttering,  her  color  coming  and  going. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  it?"  her  partner  exclaimed,  aghast 
"  You  don't  see  the  Marble  Guest,  do  you.  Miss  Varneck?" 

He  looked  where  she  looked,  and«  saw— only  a  tall,  fair- 
haired,  blue-eyed,  handsome  young  man  entering  and  sAun- 
ttring  up  to  Mrs.  Sayfield  to  pay  ms  respeots.    But  it  wai  the 


182 


THE    HETREflS    OP    GLEN    GOWEU. 


entrance  of  this  young  man  that  had  electrified  the  Maryland 
heiress. 

**  Who  is  it?"  she  said,  in  a  breathlesB  sort  of  way.  '*  Oh, 
who  is  it?'* 

**  Eh?*'  cried  hor  partner,  staring.  *'  You  don't  mean  that 
man  phaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Kaytield,  do  you?  Why,  that's 
only  Doctor  Lauristou — tiie  Young  Doctor,  as  they  call  him 
hero,  in  contradistinction  to  all  the  other  medical  gentlemen, 
who  verge  on  the  elderly.  That's  Doctor  Launcelot  Lanris- 
ton,  of  Silver  Shore,  just  home  after  taking  his  degree,  and  a 
most  uncommon  fine  fellow,  1  must  say.  His  mother  keeps 
the  fancy  store  down  the  village.  You  must  have  been  in  it, 
I'm  certain,  before  this." 

Miss  Varneck  listened  to  this  comMon place  detail  with 
breathless  interest,  her  eyes  still  fixeil  on  the  handsome 
stranger,  that  lovely,  11  uttering  blush  still  coming  and  going, 
all  unconscious  of  the  wondering  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

"  You  don't  know  Lauriston,  do  you?  ho  said,  suspi- 
ciously. "  I  don't  see  where  you  could  ever  have  met  him, 
Miss  Varneck. " 

Eudora  drew  a  long,  fluttering  breath,  and  **  beauty's 
bright,  transient  glow  "  burned  deep  red  on  her  cheeks. 

'*  No,"  she  said,  hastily,  **  1  don't  know  him.  I  have  ke\jt 
you  waiting.  1  beg  your  pardon.  Shall  we  go  now,  Mr. 
'Grant?" 

*'  I'll  present  Lauriston,  with  your  permission,  Miss  Var- 
neck," said  Mr.  Grant.  **  He'll  be  asking  for  an  introduc- 
tion in  ten  minutes." 

The  j^oung  lady  laughed. 

**  You  had  better  wait  until  he  asks,  then,  Mr.  Grant.  See, 
we  are  losing  our  waltz.     Come." 

They  whirled  away,  but  all  through  the  dance  the  bright 
eyes  of  the  pretty  heiress  kept  furtive  watch  on  the  handsome 
stranger. 

He  was  very  handsome,  grand  and  stalwart  despite  his 
youth,  and  he  looked  little  more  than  twenty. 

The  keen  blue  eyes  of  the  gentleman  spied  her  out,  too, 
very  speedily.  It  was  scarcely  likely  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
room,  and  the  only  stranger,  would  long  escape  that  vivid 
glance. 

The  dance  concluded,  her  partner  led  her  to  a  seat  and 
went  away  for  an  ice.  At  Irtie  same  instant  Mrs.  Bayfield  ap- 
proached on  the  young  stranger's  arm. 

*'  Eudora>  my  dear^  let  me  make  two  of  our  particular  fa* 


THE    HKIUES8    OF    GLEN    OOWER. 


133 


rylftnd 
*0h, 

>n  that 
that's 
11  him 
lemen, 
jauris- 
and  a 
•  keeps 
1  in  it, 

1  with 
idsome 
going, 

suspi- 
t  him, 

eauty'a 

ve  ke\it 
w,  Mr. 

ss  Var- 
troduC" 


k.    See, 

bright 
ndsome 

pite  his 

ut,  too, 
I  in  the 
it  vivid 

)at  and 
ield  ap- 

iilar  fa- 


vorites acquainted  with  each  otiier.     Mm  Vurneok,  my  young 
friend.  Doctor  Luuiidton." 

Dr.  Luuriaton  bowotl  low,  MIhs  Varueck  smiled  brightly^ 
and  Mrs.  liayfield  swent  away. 

"How  fashionably  lute  you  arrive.  Doctor  Lauriaton,"  the 
youn^  lady  said,  guy ly.     *' I  naw  you  enter  a  moment  ago.'* 

*'  it  is  necesBitv,  unfortunutclv,  in  mv  chko,*^  Dr.  Luurifciton  : 
replied.  *'  1  only  reached  the  village  by  the  last  train,  found  ^ 
the  squire's  invitation  awaiting  me,  and  hnstoncd  to  preeont  \ 
mysolf  at  once.  I  have  bt3un  in  New  York  for  the  juisl  live  ' 
months.'' 

*'  Indeed?     Not  your  first  visit  to  that  city,  I  think?" 

"No,"  said  the  young  nnm,  looking  nUhor  surprised, 
**  New  York  has  been  my  j-ernuinent  ubiding-pluco  latterly^ 
but  1  was  not  aware  Miss  Varueck  knew  that." 

Mias  Varneck  smiled,  fluttered  her  fan,  and  looked  saucy. 

**  I  am  afraid  Doctor  Lauriston  has  forgotten  me,  and  yet 
we  have  met  before,  and  in  New  Y^ork.  My  m.mory  is  bettei 
than  his,  it  appears." 

"  Impossible!"  eiclaimed  the  young  doctor.  *'  1  beg  youi 
pardon.  Miss  Varneck,  but  I  am  certain,  if  I  had  ever  me'i 
you,  1  could  not  have  forgotten.  Besides,  I  did  uot  go  intc 
society.  1  was  studying  hard.  Are  you  sure  you  do  nut  mis« 
take  me  for  some  one  else?" 

*'  Quite  sure,  sir.  1  knew  you  the  instant  you  entered.  Let 
me  refresh  your  memory.    It  was  some  years  ago  this  mouth.  '* 

'*  Some  years  ago!"  looking  hopelessly  bewildered.  '*  I 
am  very  stupid,  I  am  afraid,  but  I  really  don't  recollect  the 
circumstance.  And  yet  I  have  a  good  memory  for  faces,  too. 
Some  years  ago  I  met  you  in  New  York,  Miss  V'"arueck?  Quite 
unpardonable  of  mo,  but  I  can  not  recall  it." 

The  bright,  mischievous  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  perplexed 
face,  dancing  with  fun. 

*'  And  yet  you  did  me  a  great  favor  at  the  time — the  great- 
est you  could  possibly  render  me.  Try  and  recall  it,  Doctor 
Lauiiston — a  hooting,  yelling,  murderous  mob,  a  house  m 
flames,  a  young  girl  left  to  perish,  a  heroic  stranger  rushing 
through  maddened  men  and  devouring  fire  to — "  j 

*'  Hush!"  cried  Dr.  Lauriston,  energetically.  "  Not  a  word 
more!  I  see  it  all  now.  And  you  were  that  young  girl?  I 
accuse  myself,"  he  said,  penitently,  "  of  never  even  looking 
in  her  face. " 

Eudora  Varneck  rose  up,  flushing  deeply,  her  eloquent  eyes 
suffused — a  lovely  vision — holding  out  both  white  hands. 

I  did  not  thank  you  then,  my  preserver.     Let  i^ie  thanlc 


«( 


I- 


134 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


you  now.  I  owe  you  my  life.  You  did  for  me  that  night 
what  few  men  alive  would  have  done—you  risked  your  life  for 
mine." 

She  laid  the  two  white  hands  in  his,  with  those  glistening 
tears  in  her  eyes.  She  was  a  very  tender-hearted  little  girl, 
no  doubt,  and  a  very  grateful  one,  but  she  was  also  as  senti- 
mental as  young  ladies  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  usually  are,  and 
if  the  preserver  of  her  life  had  been  the  amiable  owner  of  a 
pug  nose  and  lantern  jaws,  we  greatly  doubt  whether  the  tears 
would  have  started  so  readily,  or  the  dainty  palms  been  ^iven 
so  impulsively. 

Dr.  Laurisfcon,  coloring  vividly  with  pleasure  and  surprise, 
did  exactly  the  right  thing — lifted  one  of  those  snow-flakes  of 
hands  and  kissed  it. 

"  This  is  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life!  But,  dear  Miss 
Varneck,  don't  spoil  that  pleasure  by  ever  thanking  me 
again." 

Their  eyes  met  in  one  brief,  eloquent  gaze.  She  drew  her 
hands  away,  blushing  vividly,  and  he —  With  that  look  the 
boy's  free  heart  went  out  from  Launcelot  Lauriston,  never  to 
return. 


CHAPTER   11. 

UNDER  THE  MAPLES. 

MisS^  Varneck  stood  on  the  front  portico  of  Squire  Ray- 
field's  handsome  house,  bathed  in  the  amber  glory  of  the 
summer  morning  sunshine.  Wonderfully  pretty  looked  the 
little  Maryland  heiress,  with  all  those  bright  coils  of  red-brown 
hair  twisted  round  her  pretty  head,  her  dark-blue  riding-habit 
and  sweeping  white  plume  setting  ofi  the  fair,  roseate  skin 
and  dancing,  blue-gray  eyes. 

She  stood  holding  up  her  sweeping  skirt  in  one  daintily 
gauntleted  hand,  the  other  posing  ner  toy  riding- whip,  while 
Squire  Rayfield's  groom  led  around  her  spirited  chestnut 
mare. 

She  was  a  good  rider — this  brigni;  little  Eudora — and 
looked,  as  all  pretty  girls  must  look,  her  best  in  a  side-saddle. 

**  Off  for  a  gallop,  Dora?"  a  hearty  voice  behind  her  said. 

And  who's  the  happy  man  this  time,  eh?" 

Eudora  turned  round  and  saw  the  jovial  squire. 

"  Doctor  Lauriston,  sir." 
Humph!  Launcelot,  eh?    It's  always  Doctor  Lauriston  of 
late,  isn't  it?    Well,  he's  a  fine  fellow — g  stalwart,  handsome, 
six-foot  giant,  with  a  character  as  sound  as  his  constitution; 


(( 


4( 


it 


THE    HEIBES3    OF    OLEN    GOWER. 


135 


and  if  you  were  a  daughter  of  mine^  you  might  ride  with  Doc- 
tor Lauriston  to  your  heart's  coatent.  But  you're  Colonel 
Varneck's  daughter,  and  the  heiress  of  Glen  Gower,  and — ^it 
won't  do,  my  dear — it  won't  do. " 

Miss  Varneck  reddened  to  the  roots  of  her  shining  hair,  but 
her  only  answer  was  an  impatient  **  Pooh!"  as  she  ran  down 
the  front  steps  and  let  the  groom  assist  he*  to  mount. 

At  the  same  instant  the  young  doctor,  astride  a  powerful 
black  horse,  cantered  up  to  the  gate  at  full  gallop. 

Miss  Varneck  gave  the  chestnut  her  head,  rode  down  the 
avenue,  and  the  pair  dashed  off  together  in  spirited  style. 

**  Handsome  couple,  mother,"  the  squire  said  to  his  wife, 
who  joined  him  in  the  hall;  **  and  that  boy  Launce  is  a  mate 
for  a  princess— a  glorious  young  fellow  who  will  make  his  mark 
in  the  world,  or  Tm  greatly  mistaken.  And  she  is  only  a  very 
pretty  and  innocent  girl;  but,  for  all  that,  she  is  the  heiress 
of  the  Var necks,  and,  as  I  said  before,  it  won't  do.  More's 
the  pity." 

**  I'm  afraid  Eudora's  a  little  of  a  coquette,"  Mrs.  Rayfield 
remarked.  '*  She  has  certainly  encouraged  young  Lauriston 
in  the  most  marked  manner  for  the  past  fortnight.  Why, 
they  have  been  inseparable — riding,  driving,  walking,  sailing. 
She  stayed  for  tea  three  times  at  his  mother's  cottage,  and 
came  home  on  his  arm  by  moonlight.  What  do  you  call 
that?" 

"  Courting,  my  dear,  in  our  time,"  replied  the  squire.  *'  1 
don't  know  the  name  of  it  now.  He's  too  good  a  boy  and  too 
clever  a  fellow  to  lose  himself  for  a  girl  as  far  out  of  his  reach 
as  yonder  shining  sun.     I'm  glad  she's  going  home." 

"  Too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Eay field,  shaking  her  head  and  moT- 
ing  off.     **  The  mischief's  done,  dei)end  upon  it." 

Mrs.  Bayfield  was  right.  It  was  too  late,  and  the  mischief 
was  dene.  Launcelot  Lauriston  was  countless  fathoms  deep 
in  love  with  Eudora  Varneck. 

Mad  presumption,  surely,  in  the  portionless  son  of  the  vil- 
lage milliner  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  great  Maryland  heiress. 
But  the  impetuous  son  of  the  village  milliner  never  thought 
of  that  When  does  headstrong  twenty  years  ever  stop  to 
think? 

And  the  Maryland  heiress  smiled  so  sweetly,  and  blushed  so 
brightly,  and  was  so  unutterably  gentle  and  gracious  that — - 
ah  I  a  stronger  head  than  Launcelot  Lauriston's  might  have 
been  turned. 

And  she — but  who  can  read  the  heart  of  a  girl  oC  eighteen? 
He  was  handsome  and  grand  as  a  king,  in  his  royal  young  man- 


136 


TH75    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN^    60WER. 


I- 


m 
'SB 


hood,  and  he  had  saved  her  life,  and  he  was  a  gentleman, 
from  the  crown  of  his  curly  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  and  it 
would  be  no  hard  matter  for  even  a  fabulous  heiress  to  give 
the  world  for  love  and  Launcelot  Lauriston,  and  think  it  well 
lost. 

They  dashed  along  over  the  pleasant  country  roads,  up 
breezy  hill-sides,  over  slopes  of  meadow-land,  and  down  oft 
the  shining  white  sands  that  gave  the  place  its  name. 

Eudora  drew  up  her  horse  for  a  moment  to  gaze  over  the 
sparkling  sea,  glittering  in  the  sunshine,  until  it  lost  itself  in 
the  blue  horizon  line. 

**  How  beautiful  it  is!  how  grand!  how  glorious!  1  love  the 
sea.  Doctor  Lauriston,  and  I  am  thankful  my  own  beautiful 
Maryland  home  is  on  the  shores  of  the  broad  Chesapeake. 
Look  at  Pirate's  Rock  over  yonder,"  pointing  with  her  whip 
to  a  tiny  island.  '*  It's  like  an  emerald  set  in  sapphire. 
Julia  Rayfield  and  1  used  to  take  the  dory  and  row  ourselves 
over  almost  every  day  to  gather  the  bright  red  berries  that 
grow  there.  They  are  like  coral,  and  make  the  prettiest 
wreaths  imaginable.  Julia  used  to  crown  her  black  hair  with 
them.  I  mean  to  take  a  basketful  when  I  go  home — as  relics, 
you  know.'* 

"  When  you  go  home!" 

Dr.  Lauriston  turned  upon  her  suddenly,  with  startled  eyes, 
at  the  words. 


ti 


Certainly.  You  don't  think  I  mean  to  dawdle  away  the 
remainder  of  my  life  here  like  this,  do  you?  1  am  going 
home,  and  that  very  soon.  The  steamer  that  brings  papa 
and  mamma  from  their  long  European  sojourn  was  due  in 
New  York  two  days  ago.  I  ought  surely  get  a  letter  by  this 
evening's  mail. " 

The  young  man  listened,  growing  very  pale.  The  lightly 
spoken  words  sounded  like  his  death-knell. 

**  And  you  will  never  return?    We  may  never  meet  again?'* 

**  Let  u3  hope  for  better  things,"  Miss  Varneck  said,  with 
that  infinite  calm  girls  all  can  assume.  **  I  certainly  hope  to 
return  here  some  time  and  see  how  married  life  agrees  with 
Julia.  And  you — who  knows? — you  may  come  to  Maryland 
sooner  or  later.  If  ever  you  do,  I  can  promise  the  preserver 
of  my  life  a  cordial  welcome  at  Glen  vrower." 

**  You  are  very  good." 

But  he  said  it  with  a  moodiness  all  unwont^  with  him,  and 
which  the  young  lady  understood  perfectly. 

A  little  consoioufi  smile  dimpled  the  pretty  mouth.     She 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


137 


up 


t> 


ff 


liked  to  feel  her  power — all  women  do — to  see  that  handsome 
face  darken  and  sadden  at  one  word  from  her. 

*'  Come,  Sir  Launcelot!"  she  exclaimed,  gayly.  **  We  are 
five  miles  from  home,  and  the  mail  may  arrive  at  any  instant. 
Come — a  race  back. " 

**  You  are  very  anxious  for  your  letter.  Miss  Varneck. 

'*  Most  undoubtedly,  Doctor  Lauriston— ^-very  anxious. 

**  And  equally  anxious  to  leave  Silver  Shore,  of  course?*' 
rather  sulkily. 

"  I  don't  perceive  the  *  of  course;'  bui  I  shall  be  glad  to 
get  home.  That  is  natural,  I  think,  after  eight  years.  And 
I  will  be  glad  to  meet  papa  and  mamma  and  grandmamma — 
equally  natural,  is  it  not?  Yes,  Doctor  Lauriston,  with  them 
I  will  willingly  leave  even  pleasant  Silver  Shore.  Are  you 
ready  to  return?  Because  Queen  Bess  is,  like  her  mistress, 
impatient  to  be  off." 

She  dashed  away  as  she  spoke,  and  the  passionate  words  on 
Launcelot's  lips  were  not  destined  to  be  uttered  then.  It  gave 
him  quite  enough  to  do  to  keep  up  with  the  spirited  chestnut 
and  her  equally  spirited  mistress. 

But  few  had  ever  seen  Launce  Lauriston  with  so  darkly 
moody  a  face  as  that.  Not  a  word  was  opoken  by  either  as 
they  flew  along  at  the  top  of  their  speed  over  the  smooth  high- 
road until  the  village  was  reached.  There  Miss  Varneck  drew 
rein  a  little. 

As  they  swept  past  the  fancy  store,  Mrs.  Lauriston's  hand- 
some face  smiled  upon  them  through  the  window,  and  Mrs. 
Lauriston's  slender  hand  was  waved  in  greeting;;. 

Those  eight  years  had  passed  very  lightly  over  the  young 
doctor's  mother.  She  looked  unmistakably  fair  and  youthful 
to-day  in  her  black  silk  dress,  with  her  shining  dark  hair  coile^l 
gracefully  away. 

•*  What  a  handsome  woman  your  mother  is!"  Miss  Var- 
neck  exclaimed.  **  She  mufet  have  been  extremely  beautiful 
in  early  youth.  And  the  strangest  thing  of  all  is  that  she  ia 
the  living  image  of  my  mother. 

"Indeed!" 

**  Thev  might  be  twin  sisters.  The  resemblance  is  some- 
thmg  extraordinary.  It  struck  me  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
her;  it  strikes  me  every  time  1  look  at  her  since.     The  ex- 

Eresslon  is  different.    Mamma  is — how  shall  I  say  it? — colder, 
aughtier,   more  imperious;    but    the    hair,   the    eyes,   th« 
height,  the  features,  are  precisely  the  same." 

**Odd!"  remarked  Launcelot,     '*  In  that  case.  Miss  Var- 


I 


138 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


neck,  you  do  not  resemble  your  mother  much.  You  take 
after  your  father,  I  presume?" 

Endora  shook  her  head. 

**  No/^  she  said.  '*  Oh,  no;  T  am  not  in  the  least  like  papa 
— not  half  so  handsome.  There,  Doctor  Lauriston,  I  will 
take  that  compliment  I  see  coming  for  granted,  and  go  on  all 
the  same.  I  am  not  at  all  like  papa,  but,  stranger  still,  you 
are.     There!  that  is  a  compliment  for  you. " 

** '  You  do  me  proud,'  Miss  Varneck;  but  in  my  case  the 
resemblance,  I  fear,  must  be  imaginary.  It  is  surely  impos- 
sible that  my  mother  can  be  the  exact  image  of  yours,  and  1 
be  the  living  prototype  of  your  father." 

**  It  sounds  incredible,  I  confess;  nevertheless,  it  is  true. 
You  do  resemble  papa  strikingly.  Whpn  he  comes  here  for 
me  you  will  see.  Ah!  home  at  last.  Will  you  come  up  this 
evening.  Doctor  Lauriston?" 

She  asked  the  question  carelessly,  half  turning  in  her  sad- 
dle, as  Queen  Bess  ambled  up  the  leafy  drive. 

**  With  your  kind  permission,  yes — to  see  whether  you  have 
received  your  letter.     Until  then,  f aroweU. " 

He  rode  away  at  a  swift  gallop,  the  moody  darkness  set- 
tling on  his  face  again.  A  chilling  presentiment  of  what  was 
to  come  had  fallen  upon  him.  For  the  first  time  he  realized 
the  impassable  gulf  between  them. 

**  She  is  an  heiress,  the  daughter  of  a  proud,  race,  and  I — 
what  am  I?"  he  asked  himself,  bitterly — *'  a  nameless  de- 
pendent on  the  bounty  of  a  stranger.  And  yet,  in  the  sight 
of  the  Creator  who  made  us^  I  am  her  equal,  and  Eudora  Var- 
neck shall  hear  me. " 

Mrs.  Bayfield  met  Eudora  on  the  threshold,  with  a  letter  in 
her  hand. 

*'  For  you,"  she  said.  "  The  postman  came  not  ten  min- 
utes ago.  It  is  postmarked  New  York.  Your  parents  hav« 
arrived." 

The  girl  took  it  with  a  cry  of  delight. 

"From  grandmamma  —  dear,  iear  grandmamma!  Oh, 
Mrs.  Kayfield!  to  think  I  shall  see  them  all  again,  after  eight 
long  years!" 

She  ran  away  to  her  room,  tore  the  letter  open  at  once,  and 
read: 


«« 


■ 


My  dearest  Eudora,— At  last,  as  you  will  see  by  the 
postmark,  we  have  reached  New  York,  and  I,  for  one,  tired 
nearly  to  death  with  the  long  sea  voyage.  Papa  and  mamm» 
stand  it  like  old  sailors,  but  I  never  get  used  to  the  seftc 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


189 


take 


Thank  Heaven,  we  are  safe  at  home  again,  or  almost  so.  1 
never  wish  to  quit  Glen  Gower  now,  until  I  quit  it  in  my 
coffin. 

**  Did  I  tell  you  in  my  last  that  we  met  my  young  kins- 
man. Lord  Annesley,  in  Paris,  and  that  he  concluded  to  re- 
turn with  us?  It  is  so,  and  your  mamma  and  I  travel  to 
Maryland  under  his  escort,  while  papa  goes  down  East  for  his 
little  girl.  You  will  like  Lord  Annesley,  I  think — he  is  but 
little  over  thirty,  well-looking,  and  the  most  thorough  gentle- 
man 1  ever  met.  And  he  is  next  heir  to  an  earldom.  He 
has  seen  our  pretty  Eudora's  picture  and  her  charming  letters, 
and,  in  short,  thinks  so  highly  of  her  that  I  believe  he  haa 
visited  this  country  expressly  to  see  her.  How  would  grand- 
mamma's pet  like  to  be^a  countess?  A  coronet  would  become 
that  graceful  head,  I  think.  But,  there — I  will  say  no  more. 
Wait  until  you  see  him — let  Fate  do  the  rest.  You  should 
receive  this  on  the  20th — on  the  22d  your  father  wiU  be  at 
Silver  Shore  to  take  you  home.  Ah!  how  I  long  to  see  my 
dear  little  granddaughter!  With  much  love  from  all,  I  am, 
my  dearest  Eudora,  your  affectionate  grandmother, 

"  Augusta  Varneck.'* 

Eudora  Varneck  read  this  letter  over  and  over  again,  with 
eyes  that  flashed  and  cheeks  that  burned.  A  coronet!  a 
countess!  The  letter  dropped  in  her  lap,  and  she  went  off 
into  a  rapturous  dream  of  what  might  be. 

A  peeress  of  England — she  could  see  herself  in  diamonds 
and  lace,  and  sweeping  train  of  richness,  presented  at  Court 
— her  daily  home  some  grand  old  ivy-crowned  castle,  and  she, 
herself,  **  my  lady."  How  all  the  girls  she  knew  would  burn 
with  bitterest  envy!  how  her  marriage  would  be  chronicled  in 
all  the  papers!  what  a  sensation  it  would  create!  Why,  it 
would  be  living  a  chapter  out  of  one  of  her  pet  novels,  and 
she  :^ould  be  a  heroine  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  Alas  for 
Launcelot  Lauriston!  Not  once  did  his  image  rise  in  those 
radiant  dreams.  She  was  only  a  girl — romantic,  silly,  if  you 
like — and  it  was  as  natural  as  the  air  she  breathed. 

Miss  Varneck,  going  down  to  dinner  some  time  later  with  a 
luminous  face,  announced  that  on  the  second  day  after  papa 
was  coming  to  take  her  home.  Mamma  and  grandmamma, 
under  the  escort  of  their  relative,  Lord  Annesley,  were  already 
on  their  way  to  Glen  Gower,  she  added,  with  an  unconBcioiui 
little  uprising  of  the  pretty  head. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bayfield  expressed  their  regrets,  but  the 
squire,  in  reality,  was  greatly  relieved.    He  liked  this  bijght- 


1 1' 


;  ^ 


140 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR. 


haired  little  heiress^  but  he  liked  the  blue-eyed,  handsome  boy 
he  had  known  from  childhood  better.  And  if  the  little  heir- 
ess stayed  much  longer,  the  handsome,  headstrong  boy  stood 
in  imminent  danger  of  having  his  happiness  wrecked  for  life. 

A  couple  of  hours  after  dinner  Eudora  strolled  away  down 
along  the  maple  walk  to  watch  the  sun  go  down,  and  wait  for 
Dr.  Lauriston.  Under  the  maple-trees  they  had  seen,  many 
suns  set.  Would  they  ever — she  thought  it  with  a  little  pang 
— would  they  ever  watch  another? 

She  heard  the  gallop  of  his  horse  along  the  silent,  dusty 
road;  she  heard  him  vault  off  at  the  gate;  she  heard  the 
quick,  light  tread  crashing  along  the  gravel.  Her  heart 
quickened  its  throbbing;  she  knew  as  well  as  that  she  stood 
there  what  was  coming.  An  instant  later,  and  he  was  by  her 
side.  But  she  never  looked  up.  For  the  first  time  she 
shrunk  from  the  gaze  of  those  bold  blue  eyes — her  own  fixed 
on  the  crimson  glory  of  the  sinking  sun. 

**  So  absorbed  in  your  thoughts  and  the  sunset  that  you 
have  not  even  a  word  of  greeting  for  a  friend.  Miss  Varneck?" 
he  said,  reproachfully. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  a  nervous  little  laugh,  then 
back  at  the  lurid  splendor  in  the  west. 

"  I  am  looking  my  last,"  she  said.  "  Who  knows  that  1 
shall  ever  see  the  sun  set  again  at  Silver  Shore?' ' 

He  grew  deathly  pale. 

*'  Then  your  letter  has  come?"  he  said,  slowly. 

**  I  found  it  awaiting  me — it  is  from  grandmamma.  Here, 
read  it  yourself.  Doctor  Lauriston,  if  you  will." 

She  took  it  carelessly  from  her  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
him.  Perhaps,  ail  unknown  to  herself,  a  feeling  of  pride 
prompted  the  act. 

She  could  not  very  well  tell  him  those  significant  little  hints 
of  grandmamma's  about  Lord  Annesley,  and  it  was  something 
to  let  this  presumptuous  village  doctor  see  that  he  was  ad- 
dressing a  prospective  peeress  of  the  realm. 

But  Dr.  Launcelot  Lauriston  was  not  in  the  least  daunted 
by  that  impressive  fact.  He  read  the  letter  through  with  a 
set,  oiern  face,  and  a  hard,  steely  glitter  in  his  frank  blue 
eyes.  He  read  it  to  the  end  and  handed  it  back.  Miss  Var- 
neck  could  see,  in  a  fleeting  side  glance,  how  pale  and  fixed 
his  face  was. 

"  As  we  part  so  soon,  it  may  not  be  premature  to  offer  my 
congratulations  now,"  were  his  first  words,  hard  and  bitter. 
•*  I  presume  T  am  addressing  the  future  Lady  Annesley?" 
Doctor  LauristoD,"  with  a  vivid  blush,  "  how  dare  you?*' 


«i 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


141 


'I  beg  your  pardon.  You  wished  me  to  learn  the  fact 
when  you  gave  me  that  letter  to  read,  did  you  not?  It  would 
be  against  the  rules  and  proprieties  of  young-Iadydom  to  tell 
me  in  so  many  words.  Very  kind  of  you,  indeed.  Miss  Var- 
neck.  At  the  same  time,  the  kindness  comes  a  little  too 
Me/' 

"Doctor  Lauriston,  have  you  gone  mad?  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean. " 

**  Do  you  not?  I'll  endeavor  to  make  it  clearer,  then. 
Have  I  gone  mad?  Something  very  like  it,  I  begin  to  see; 
but  a  madness  not  of  to-day,  nor  of  yesterday.  A  madness 
of  your  making.  Miss  Eudora  Varneck.'* 

**  Doctor  Lauriston!" 

She  was  trembling  with  excitement  from  head  to  foot — she 
could  only  stand  there  like  a  culprit,  and  falter  his  name. 

**  1  am  rude,  am  1  not.  Miss  Varneck?  Not  in  the  least 
like  that  *  thorough  gentleman,'  Lord  Annesley.  1  am  a 
bear  and  a  brute,  for  whom  the  bow-string  would  be  too  mer- 
ciful. I  am  also  a  presumptuous  madman,  for  1  have  dared 
lift  my  plebeian  eyes  to  the  patrician  face  of  the  heiress  of 
Olen  Gower,  and  love  her. " 

She  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and,  covering  her  face  with  both 
hands,  turned  away. 

**  1  love  you,  and  you  know  it — have  known  it  from  the 
first.  You  drew  me  on  with  sweetest  smiles,  and  honeyed 
words,  and  gracious  condescension,  to  see,  no  doubt,  how  far 
the  plebeian  idiot's  lunacy  would  carry  him.  You  fooled  me 
to  the  top  of  my  bent,  and  now.  Miss  Varneck,  the  hour  of 
your  punishment  has  come,  for  you  must  stand  here  and  listen 
to  me  tell  it." 


>> 


)»» 


'*  I  am  sorry!  1  am  sorry- 

Her  voice  choked  in  a  tearless  sob. 

"  No  doubt.  You  all  say  that-— you  accomplished  co- 
quettes; it  is  part  of  the  formula,  I  believe.  And  this  is  your 
first  effort  in  that  line.  Miss  Varneck.  Really,  it  does  you 
credit.  A  most  accomplished  flirt,  *  out '  half  a  dozen  sea- 
sons, could  hardly  have  succeeded  better.  You  have  been 
reading  *  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere '  lately,  I  dare  say,  and 
you  have  been  merely  rehearsing  the  part.  '  You  thought  to 
oreak  a  country  heart  for  pastime,'  ere  you  went  to  town, 
and  you  have  succeeded  tolerably  well.  Yes,  Miss  Varneck," 
folding  his  arms  and  standing  erect  all  his  magnificent  six 
feet,  with  blazing  blue  eyes  and  death-white  face,  **  the  '  play 
is  played  out;'  the  madman  is  as  mad  as  even  yon  would  hare 


'if 

h 


iM 


141. 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


i 


;:   ' 


him.  1  love  you  as  I  never  will  love  another  woman  in  this 
lower  world." 

The  bitter  voice  stopped — the  blazing  eyes  looked  her  full 
in  the  face. 

She  tried  look  up;  she  tried  to  meet  that  rigid  face  with 
pride,  with  indignation.  In  vain.  The  sense  of  guilt  weighed 
her  down.  She  had  been  heartless— she  had  acted  the  part  of 
a  cruel  coquette;  and,  worst  of  all,  she  loved  him.  Yee,  if  he 
had  only  known  it — this  passionate  young  lover — what  she 
dared  not  now  avow  to  her  own  frightened  heart — the  tri- 
umph was  his,  for  she  loved  him. 

**  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me.  Miss  Varneck?"  the 
hard,  strident  voice  asked. 

**  Nothing  " — she  spoke  coldly,  roused  at  last,  and  looking 
away  from  him — '*  except  good-bye." 

He  broke  out  into  a  laugh — a  very  ma  1  man's  laugh — wild, 
mocking,  mirthless. 

**  1  have  my  answer.  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere  has  had 
her  three  weeks'  pleasure,  and  young  Laurence  may  go  and 
cut  his  idiotic  throat  as  soon  as  he  pleases.  Good-bye,  Miss 
Vameck,  by  all  means.  You  have  taught  me  a  sharp  lesson 
— believe  me,  1  shall  not  forget  it.  T  wish  Lord  Annesley  joy 
of  his  bride.  The  milliner's  son  and  the  heiress  of  Glen 
Gower — the  future  Countess  of  Annesley — part  here,  to  meet 
again,  as  they  are — equals^  in  t!ie  sight  of  the  God  who  made 
them." 

For  an  instant  she  dared  look  up  in  his  inspired,  glorified 
face;  then  he  had  turned  and  was  striding  down  the  dewy 
grass. 

She  made  a  step  after  him,  with  both  hands  outstretched. 

**  Stop,  Launcelot!    Don't  go!" 

But  he  was  gone  already  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  she 
was  alone  with  her  dazzling  prospective  coronet  and  her  undy- 
ing remorse. 

He  went  straight  home — white  and  rigid  and  cold  as  death. 
The  summer  moon  was  rising,  round  aad  full,  as  he  entered 
his  mother's  little  parlor  and  flung  himself,  face  downward, 
on  a  lounge.  Higher  and  higher  rose  that  placid  moon,  one 
by  one  the  tremulous  stars  came  out,  and  still  the  young  man 
lay  there  as  still  as  though  death  had  quieted  forever  that  im^ 
petuous  heart  doing  battle  with  its  first  despair. 


THE    UEIKESS    OF    QLLH    UUWJ£iU 


143 


the 


one 


CHAPTER  IIL 
•N  pirate's  rock. 

Another  sunset,  red  and  wrathful.  The  ann,  a  lari4, 
glaring  ball,  was  going  down  in  clouds  blood  red  and  inky 
black,  over  the  placid  sea  smooth  as  glass;  that  red  light  in 
the  sky  shone  with  a  fierce  reflective  glare. 

Eudora  Varneck  stood  on  the  whit^  sands,  looking  over  the 
wide  sea  with  sorrowful  blue  eyes.  She  stood  alone,  where 
she  and  Launcelot  Lauriston  had  often  stood,  side  by  side,  aa 
they  never  might  stand  again.  She  stood  alone,  this  last 
evening  at  dear  old  Silver  Shore,  watching  the  lurid  splendor 
of  that  sunset  on  the  sea. 

For  she  was  very  unhappy.  She  loved  this  handsome,  pas- 
sionate, impetuous  boy-lover  who  had  saved  her  life  so  daring- 
ly, and  she  had  refused  him  and  broken  his  heart. 

She  did  not  know,  then,  this  poor  little  heiress,  just  eman- 
cipated from  school,  of  what  tough  stuff  men's  hearts  are 
made,  and  what  merciless  blows  it  takes  to  crack  the  adamant. 

She  loved  him  and  she  had  refused  him,  and  he  was  going 
mad,  no  doubt,  in  his  misery,  and  he  despised  her,  as  she  de- 
served to  be  despised.  By  and  by,  perhaps,  he  would  forget 
her  and  marry  some  village  beauty,  and  they  would  meet — 
she  radiant  in  luoe  and  jewels — Lady  Annesley,  perhaps,  and 
she  would  drop  down  at  his  feet  in  a  death- like  swoon.  It 
was  so  in  all  the  noirels  she  had  read,  and  that  gave  her  a  dis- 
mal pleasure  even  in  the  depths  of  her  sorrow  and  despair. 
Were  not  Medora,  and  Gulnare,  and  Zuleika,  and  the  rest  of 
them  unspeakably  unhappy  young  women?  and  had  not  the 
ambition  of  her  life  been  to  be  one  of  them — wretched  and 
broken-hearted,  too?  She  had  the  desire  of  her  heart  now, 
and  nothing  was  left  her  but  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

'*  I  will  never  see  Mm  again,"  mused  Miss  Varneck — she 
always  thought  of  Dr.  Lauriston  in  italics,  now;  "  and  if  papa 
and  grandmamma  insist  upon  my  marrying  Lord  Annesley, 
of  course  1  must  marry  him.  But  1  will  never  love  him, 
never,  never!  and  he  will  carry  a  Marble  Bride  to  his  ancestral 
home,  and  no  one  will  ever  know  the  reason  of  my  tearless 
despair.  Oh,  how  cruel  and  wicked  he  must  think  me!  and 
1  almost  wish,  for  his  sake,  I  had  been  born  a  poor  girl  and 
not  a  great  heiress.  If  1  were  one  of  his  mother's  apprentices, 
now«  we  could  loye  each  other  and  get  married  and  live  in  on« 


^ 


144 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEB. 


of  those  dear  little  cottageb  yonder,  with  the  red  doors  and 
^reen  blinds,  and  I  could  cook  his  dinner,  and  iron  his  shirts, 
and  sweep  and  dust  our  little  purlor,  while  he  attended  his 
patients,  and  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  But  I  am  Eu- 
Sora  Varneck,  of  Glen  Gower,  and  not  a  little  apprentice,  and 
it  can  never,  never,  never  be!'' 

The  dismal  pleasure  in  her  own  despair  deepened,  and  Miss 
Varneck  enjoyed  her  gloomy  thoughts  immensely,  \nthout 
knowing  it. 

Could  Jane  Erye,  or  Edith  Dombey,  or  Little  Em'ly,  or 
any  of  her  especial  pets,  be  more  delightfully  wretched  than, 
this? 

She  sauntered  slowly  up  and  down  the  lonely  sands,  look- 
ing at  the  red  light  in  the  sky,  and  the  reflected  gliUer  in  the 
calm  water.  How  cruelly  beautiful  it  ail  was,  ant]  this  her 
last  night! 

All  at  once  the  memory  of  the  relics  she  was  to  take  away 
flashed  upon  her — the  coral  berries  from  Pirate's  Kock. 

'*  And  when  I  am  far  away — in  England,  maybe,  living  a 
life  of  dazzling  misery,  I  will  look  at  them,  ant!  think  of  the 
happy  time  gone  forever!*'  thought  thia  romantic  litile  girl. 

She  glanced  around.  The  late  Miss  Julia  RayfieJirs  pretty 
little  pleasure-boat  danced  up  and  down  with  the  long,  lazy 
swell,  a  few  yards  olL  The  oars  lay  across  the  thwarti^,  the 
little  sail  was  furled,  and  Eudora  could  manage  the  painted 
toy  like  a  fisherman.  Often  and  often  she  and  Julia  had 
rowed  themselves  to  Pirate's  Rock  for  the  scarlet  berries,  in 
the  first  days  of  her  coming,  before  the  hero  of  her  life  had 
appeared  to  transform  the  world.  Now  she  would  go  again 
for  the  last  time.  She  looked  at  the  sky,  but  the  v.  rathful 
splendor  of  that  red  sunset  told  nothing  to  her  inexperienced 
eyes. 

'*  It  will  be  moonlight,"  she  thought,  *'  and  I  can  sail  home 
by  moonlight." 

Sha  unfastened  the  dory,  pushed  off,  took  the  oars,  and 
struck  out.  The  distance  was  little  over  half  a  mile  at  ebb 
tide,  as  now,  and  she  could  easily  make  the  rock  in  twenty 
minutes. 

The  wind  had  died  out;  an  ominous  calm  lay  over  earth 
and  sea;  the  black,  glancing  water  was  like  glass.  The 
hardiest  fisherman  along  the  coast  would  not  have  ventured 
out  this  sultry  July  evening  on  which  the  unlucky  little  heiress 
thoughtlessly  risked  her  life. 

Pirate's  Rock  was  a  tiny  island,  large  enough  for  a  pleasant 
promenade  at  low  tide,  but  quiiie  overflowed  at  high  water  and 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEK. 


14ft 


in  violent  storms.  Stunted  furze  grew  beneath  the  rocks,  and 
I'ttle  bunches  of  bright-red  berries  dotted  the  rank,  sea-weedy 
grass.  Blue  rockets  and  flame-colored  flowers  rocked  in  the 
wild  sea  wind.  A  weird,  lonely  place  at  all  times,  doubly 
weird  and  lonely  now,  in  the  hush  of  the  summer  evening,  and 
in  the  fierce  glare  of  the  blood-red  sky. 

But  still  Eudora  dreamed  not  of  danger.  She  ran  the  dory 
in  a  tiny  inlet,  moored  it  securely,  as  she  thought,  to  an  over- 
hanging bowlder,  and  tripped  away  up  the  rocky  slojie. 

The  exercise  of  rowing  had  tired  her,  and  she  sat  down 
among  the  rank  grass,  took  oil'  her  hat,  and  laid  her  pretty 
head  thoughtfully  against  the  grim  blue  rock.  And  one© 
again  her  thoughts  veered  away  to  the  lover  she  had  lost. 

'*  I  wonder  ii  Lord  Annesley  is  half  as  handsome?"  was  her 
girlish  fancy.  **  Grandmamma  says  he  is  *  well  looking,'  but 
that  is  a  stupid  phrase,  and  1  dare  say  he  has  a  broad,  round, 
English  face,  with  horrid  red  cheeks  and  sandy  side- whiskers. 
I  know  I  shall  hate  him." 

She  drew  forth  grandmamma's  letter  and  reread  it.  As  she 
replaced  it  in  her  pocket,  the  sudden  darkness  that  had  fallen 
struck  her.  She  looked  up  at  the  sky;  all  the  crimson  glory 
of  the  sunset  had  died  out;  a  pall  of  inky  black  covered  the 
west,  lighted  up  here  and  there  with  blood-red  bars.  A  wild 
rack  of  storm-clouds  scudded  across  the  sky;  a  low,  ominous 
moan  that  wrinkled  the  dark  waters  told  of  the  rising  wind. 
Even  the  girl's  inexperienced  eyes  could  not  fail  to  read  these 
signs. 

*'  There  is  a  storm  coming,"  she  thought.  **  I  must  make 
haste." 

She  never  dreamed  of  looking  at  the  boat.  The  first  fierce 
pu2  of  the  rising  gale  had  loosened  her  ill-tied  knot,  and  the 
little  white  dory  was  serenely  drifting  away  upon  the  swelling 
tide. 

Taking  her  hat  for  a  basket,  Eudora  knelt  down  to  gather 
her  berries.  It  was  slow  work.  Tall,  coarse,  reedy  grass  hid 
them,  and  with  every  passing  instant  the  darkness  deepened 
and  wind  and  water  rose.  The  sea-gulls  screamed  shrilly,  and 
went  eddying  round  in  dizzy  circles  on  the  very  crest  of  the 
waves.  Every  second  made  her  danger  more  deadly;  and  still 
she  knelt  there  and  gathered  her  relics,  her  fatal  red  berries. 

A  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  leaping  out  like  a  two-edged 
aword,  was  her  first  warning  of  doom.  She  sprung  to  her 
feet  with  a  scream  of  terror.  A  crash  of  thunder  broke  above 
her  head,  as  though  heaven  and  earth  were  rent  asunder.     Sho 


146 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    OOWER. 


i    > 


I 


covered  her  ears,  with  a  second  wild  cry,  and  siinK  dowa 
stunned.     Then,  dead  silence. 

The  girl  lifted  her  pale  face  and  frightened  eyes.  The  skv 
overhead  was  black  as  midnight — the  soa  was  on  fire  with 
white-crested  waves.  The  wind  rose  with  a  roar,  and  swept 
over  the  ocean;  the  lightning  flamed  out  again.  There  was 
a  second  thunder-crush  more  terrible  than  the  first,  thou  a  big 
drop  of  rain,  then  another  and  another. 

*^The  boat!*'  she  cried,  with  a  wild  shriek,  **  the  boat!" 

She  flung  away  her  gathered  treasures  and  darted  down  the 
sk>pe.  Alas  and  alas!  Far  away,  a  mocking  white  speck, 
flailed  the  boat — she  was  alone  with  her  doom  on  Pirate's  Kockl 

She  uttered  no  cry — she  stood  stock  still,  in  her  blank  de- 
spair. Ah  I  this  was  despair.  Very  unlike  that  pretty,  girlish 
sentiment  of  half  an  hour  ago.  She  was  alone  on  Pirate's 
Rock.  Long  before  midnight  those  fiery-crested  waves  would 
wash  its  topmost  crag — long  before  midnight,  earth  and  all 
things  earthly  would  be  gone  from  her  forever. 

She  leaned  against  the  beetling  cYiQ,  as  still  as  the  stone,  in 
frozen  horror  and  despair.  She  was  so  young — life  was  so 
sweet — earth  was  so  bright  and  beautiful.  All  her  life  seemed 
to  flash  before  her — her  father,  her  mother,  her  beautiful 
Southern  home.     She  w&s  only  eighteen,  and  she  must  die. 

The  wind  arose;  the  waves  roared  and  hissed,  and  broke 
over  one  another  in  mad  frenzy;  the  darkness  deepened;  night 
seemed  to  fail  in  an  instant.  Flash  after  flash  leaped  out  of 
those  black  clouds,  lighting  the  awful  sea;  peal  after  peal 
broke  the  deafening  thunder;  the  rain  fell  no  longer  in  bis 
drops,  but  swept  in  a  white  sheet  over  the  waters.  And,  ohi 
worst  of  all,  the  rising  tide  was  creeping  up — creeping  up;  the 
long,  white  breakers  wet  her  feet  already  where  she  stood. 

She  turned  mechanically  and  ascended  the  cliff.  She  chose 
the  highest  part,  and  cowered  down  under  the  loftiest  point 
of  the  rock.  One  look  she  took  at  the  black  sky,  at  the  hiss- 
ing hell  of  waters,  then  covered  her  face  with  both  hands  and 
waited  for  her  doom. 

She  tried  to  pray — in  vain,  in  vain!  In  that  supreme  mo- 
ment her  tongue  seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth — 
heart  and  bram  were  numbed  and  mute.  Her  thoughts  wan- 
dered wildly.  She  could  see  the  alarm  at  Squire  Bayfield's — 
running  hither  and  thither;  the  search  for  her  in  all  sorts  of 
probable  and  improbable  places — the  vain,  fruitless  search. 
To-morrow  would  come,  sunlit  and  bright,  and  a  girl's  dead 
body  would  float  ashore,  to  be  recognized  by  the  horrified 
throng  as  hers.     And  her  father,  what  »  sight  for  him — what 


THE    HETTIE88    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


147 


news  to  carry  to  that  pleasant  Soutborii  home!  And  luat  and 
dearest,  Lauiicelot,  her  lovror — what  would  ho  say,  vvliut  would 
ho  feel,  when  ho  hoard  tho  torriblo  truth,  when  ho  looked  upon 
her  lying  cold  and  stiir  and  atark? 

She  crouohod  tLoro,  hor  brain  in  a  mad  whirl,  and  tho  hours 
wore  on.  She  never  looked  up:  ah(3  could  sue  tho  viviil  glare 
of  the  lightning  without  thai ;  .sho  could  tLol  tho  boating,  the 
pitilesa  rain.  Long  ago  she  had  been  drenched  to  tho  skin, 
and  she  shivered  in  tho  raw  night  W'ud.  Still  the  thunder 
crashed,  still  the  waturs  rose;  the  apray  from  tho  highest  bil« 
lows  dashed  in  her  face  whore  she  sat.  Very  soon  now  and 
the  agony  of  death  would  end.  She  was  falling  into  a  sort  of 
stupor,  in  which  the  tumult  of  rain  and  wind,  and  aea  and 
thunder  olended  in  one  long,  dull,  continuous  roar. 

**  And  I  will  die  here,"  she  thought,  in  an  unnatural  sorb 
of  calm,  *'  and  he  will  never  know  how  dearly  I  loved  him!'* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT  THE   ELEVniNTII    HOUR. 

**  A  TERRIBLE  night,  my  dear,  an  awful  night  of  wind  and 
rain,  and  thunder  and  lightning.  Let  us  thank  the  good  God 
we  are  not  among  those  '  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships/ 
and  let  us  pray  for  the  poor  souls  who  do.*' 

Mrs.  Raytiold  looked  up  from  her  work.  She  sat  placidly 
knitting  by  early  lamp-light,  as  her  husband  blustered  in  like 
the  god  of  the  wind. 

"  1  thought  it  darkened  down  unusually  early,"  she  said. 
"  I  wish  Eudora  would  come  home." 

"  Eudora!"  The  squire  fac(  d  her.  **  Now,  mother,  yoa 
never  mean  to  say  that  flighty  girl  is  off  in  such  weather  as 
this?" 

**  There  was  nothing  wrong  with  the  weather  when  she  went. 
She  has  been  gone  ever  since  dinner." 

"  And  where,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  is  she?" 

**  1  am  sure  1  don't  know.  1  never  ask  her  where  she  is 
going.     Why,  she  is  in  no  danger,  is  she?" 

'*8he  is  in  danger  of  being  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  of 
being  laid  up  with  influenza  or  inflammatory  rheumatism,  or 
something  equally  pleasant.  I'll  send  after  her.  Very  likely 
she's  at  Mrs.  Lauriston's." 

**  No,"  said  Mrs.  Rayfield.  **  I  think  not.  I  saw  her  and 
Launcelot,  evening  before  last,  down  the  maple  walk,  and  I 
fancy  they  had  an  understanding,  or,  rather,  m/j(-understand- 
ing.    They  quarreled,  I  am  oertain^  and  he  went  ofi  in  a 


148 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER, 


towering  passion.     She  is  not  at  Mr&  Lauriston's^  you  wiE 
find.     Better  ask  the  servants. " 

The  squire  testily  rang  the  bell.  The  servant  who  came 
inew  nothing,  but  would  inquire.  Returned  in  five  minutes 
with  the  news  that  Miss  Varneck  had  gone  shoreward — her 
iarorite  walk.     Reuben,  the  stable  boy,  had  met  her. 

**  Gone  to  the  beach!'*  exclaimed  the  squire.  ,**  What  the 
deuce  can  keep  her  there,  and  this  tornado  coming  on?  She 
can't  have  fallen  asleep  on  the  sands,  can  she?  I'll  run  down 
and  see;  and,  Reuben,  my  lad,  do  you  scamper  off  to  the  vil- 
lage and  see  if  there  are  any  signs  of  her  there.  '* 

The  squire  blustered  out.  Reubc-^  ran  ofiE  on  his  errand. 
The  black  cloud-rack  still  scudded  across  the  sky;  the  wind 
blew  a  gale— the  ttaipest  would  burst  in  a  few  moments.  As 
he  had  not  run  since  he  was  a  young  man,  the  squire  ran  to 
the  beach  now.  But  his  race  was  vain.  Up  the  shore,  down 
the  shore,  no  living  creature  was  to  be  seen,  save  himself.  As 
he  stood,  gazing  blankly,  the  first  flash  of  lightning  cleft  the 
dark  air — the  first  clap  of  thunder  burst. 

*'  Lord  a'  mercy!"  gasped  Squire  Rayfield.  **  Where  ia 
that  girl?    I'll  get  my  death  looking  for  her." 

Great  rain-drops  began  to  fall.  The  squire  turned  and 
flcadded  away  to  the  village. 

**  She  may  be  at  the  widow's,"  he  thought,  *'  to  make  up 
with  Launce.  Who  knows?  Nobody  could  ever  make  top  or 
tail  of  a  girl's  doings." 

The  widow's  cottage  was  all  alight,  but  the  shop  was  closed. 
The  squire's  knock  was  answered  by  Mrs.  Lauriston  herself, 
looking  very  pale,  and  with  tear-stains  on  her  cheek. 

**  Is  Launc«  in?"  demanded  the  squire,  striding  in,  drenched 
through  already. 

Launcelot  answered  in  person  by  stepping  out  of  an  inner 
room,  whore  he  had  been  kneeling,  strapping  a  trunk.  He, 
too,  looked  pale  and  haggard,  and  strangely  stern;  but  the 
«quire  never  stopped  to  notice  now. 

"  Nothing  wrong,  I  hope,  squire?"  the  young 
**  You  are  wet  through.     Come  in." 

The  neat  cottage  parlor  looked  strangely  disordered  and 
upset— everything  flung  at  sixes  and  sevens,  as  though  the 
widow  and  son  were  in  the  midst  of  an  exodus. 

**  Is  Eudora  Varneck  here?"  asked  the  squire,  staring 
around. 

"  Miss  Varneck?  Certainly  not  What  do  you  mean. 
Squire  Rayfield?"  inquired  Mrs.  Lauriston. 

I  beg  your  paraon,  ma'am;  I  thought  she  might  be. 


man  said. 


(C 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLES    OOWER. 


14» 


yovL  Will 

^ho  came 
minutes 
rard—her 

'hat  the 
Ion?    She 
•un  down 
\o  the  vil- 

;s  errand, 
the  wind 
jnts.  As 
re  ran  to 
>re,  down 
self.  As 
cleft  the 


Wher. 


e  la 


ned   and 

make  up 
ke  top  or 

is  closed, 
herself, 

irenched 

an  inner 
k.  He, 
but  the 

an  said. 

red  and 
agh  the 

staring 

mean, 

B^ht  be. 


SShe's  out  in  the  storm  somewhere,  and  we  don't  know  where, 
and  I  thought  I  would  ask  here — that  is  all.  I  have  no  more 
idea  where  to  look  for  her  now  than  the  naan  in  the  moon.  *' 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door.  Again  Mrs. 
Lauriston  opened  it  to  admit  a  burly  fisherman,  dripping  like 
A  water-dog. 

**  The  squire's  here,  ma'am,  isn't  he?"  the  man  said,  pull- 
ing off  his  cap.  "I  see  him  coming  in.  Jest  tell  him  I'ye 
news  of  the  young  lady." 

The  squire  rushed  out,  followed  by  the  young  doctor. 

**  What  is  it,  Thompson?     Out  with  it.     Quick!" 

***  Bad  news,  squire.  The  young  lady's  got  hciself  into  a 
most  awful  fix.     She's  on  Pirate's  Rock." 

There  was  a  wild  yell  from  the  squire.  Dr.  Lauriston  stood 
petrified. 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  said  Thompson,  emphatically.  *'  My  boy  Joe 
see  her  take  the  skiff — your  darter's,  squire — considerable  over 
an  hour  ago,  and  row  herself  away.  He  often  see  the  two 
young  ladies  paddling  about  in  that  little  craft,  aad  didi't  pay 
no  particular  attention,  only  he  sez  to  himself,  '  It's  goin  to 
be  a  nasty  night,  i  wonder  if  Miss  Varneck  knows  it?'  and 
he  comes  home  to  his  supper.  Well,  sir,  after  sapper,  as  1 
was  smokin'  my  pipe  and  looking  at  the  dirty  state  of  the 
sky,  what  does  I  see  but  the  little  boat  of  Miss  Julia's  drifting 
all  by  itself  at  the  mercy  of  the  tide. " 

There  was  a  second  yell.  Tlie  squire  stood  staring  as  if  his 
eyes  would  drop  out  on  the  carpet,  and  still  Dr.  Lauriston  re- 
mained petrified. 

*' Good  heavens!"  cried  Mrs.  Lauriston,  '*  was  Miss  Var- 
neck in  the  boat?" 

**  J  told  you  Miss  Varneck  was  on  Pirate's  Rock,  ma*am," 
said  Thompson.  "  My  'pinion  is  she  moored  the  little  skiff 
as  well  as  she  knew  how,  and  it  went  adrift  with  the  rising 
tide,  and  left  her  there.  The  worst  of  it  is,  there's  one  of  the 
most  awful  storms  raging  that  ever  broke  on  this  coast,  and 
no  boat  could  live  through  it.  And  if  the  young  lady's  on 
that  rock  now,  she  won't  be  there  by  morning." 

He  added  the  last  sentence  in  a  hushed  under- tone. 

The  squire  reeled  back  like  a  drunken  niciu,  the  widow  ut- 
tered a  wailing  cryj  but  Launcelot  Luuiiston,  without  word 
or  cry,  turned,  look  down  his  hat  and  coat,  put  them  on,  and 
strode  past  them  out  into  the  blind  blackness  of  the  raging 
storm. 

*'  Stop  him!"  shrieked  his  mother.  *'  He  is  mad!  He  wiU 
lose  his  life  for  that  girl." 


li 


!6 

I 


150 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    OLEN    GOWEB. 


! 


! 
i 


! 


if 


i 


Thompson  the  fisherman  laid  a  strong  hand  on  the  yoong 
man's  shoulder. 

**  My  lad,"  he  said,  "  where  are  you  going?" 

**  To  save  Eudora  Varneck  or  perish  with  her." 

He  shook  off  the  brawny  hand  as  though  it  had  been  ft 
feather's  weight,  and  rushed  away. 

"Follow  him!"  cried  Mrs.  Lauriston,  wildly.  "For  the 
love  of  God,  Squire  Rayfield,  save  my  son!  I  tell  you  he  is 
mad.  He  doesn't  know  what  he  is  doing.  Don't  let  him 
lose  his  life  for  that  girl.  What  is  she — cruel,  heartless  co- 
quette— that  my  noble  boy  should  perish  for  her  sake?" 

Her  words  restored  the  stunned  squire.  He  rushed  out, 
forgetful  of  the  merciless  rain  and  prospective  rheumatism, 
after  the  impetuous  young  doctor.  He  could  see  him,  by  the 
weird  fashes  of  lightning,  far  ahead,  running  as  if  for  life 
and  death. 

**  He'll  be  gone  before  I  can  catch  np  with  him,"  thought 
the  panting  squire.  **  And  how  will  I  ever  look  his  mother 
in  the  face  then?" 

But  Squire  Rayfield  was  in  time.  It  was  no  such  easy  mat- 
ter finding  a  boat  and  putting  oS  in  that  surf  in  the  midst  of 
the  raging  tempest. 

The  news  had  spread  that  Miss  Eudora  Varneck  was  on 
Pirate's  Rock,  and  a  group  of  men  were  gathered  on  the  sands, 
looking  into  one  another's  horrified  faces.  Launcelot  Lauris- 
ton stood  in  their  midst,  white  as  a  dead  man. 

**  You  can't  do  it,  sir,"  a  sturdy  fisherman  said.  "No 
boat  could  live  through  it.  Why,  those  rolling  breakers  here 
would  smash  to  atoms  any  craft  that  ever  was  launched.  If 
you  put  off  to-night  the  first  land  you'll  make  will  be  the  hot* 
tom  of  Massachusetts  Bay." 

"  Give  me  your  boat,  Robinson,"  said  the  young  doctor, 
turning  his  white,  set  face  to  a  second  fisherman.  "  Webster 
won't  If  you  never  see  her  again.  Miss  Varneck's  friends 
will  more  than  repair  your  loss.     Give  me  your  boat." 

"  But,  Doctor  Lauriston — " 

"Stop!"  cried  the  doctor,  in  a  fierce,  high  voice.  "I 
want  no  words.  Your  boat,  I  say — your  boat  to  save  a  human 
life — if  you  are  men,  and  not  monsters!  My  life  is  my  own. 
I  ask  no  one  to  share  my  peril,  but  go  I  will,  if  I  have  to 
swim  to  Pirate's  Rock!" 

"My  boy" — the  squire's  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder^  the 
squire's  voice  was  solemn  and  stern — "  she  is  beyond  mortal 
help:  and  remember  your  mother." 

**  xou,  too,  squire!"  the  young  man  said,  in  passionate  r»^ 


I 


THE   HEIRESS    OF    6LEK    OOWEB. 


101 


mng 


ma 

the 
|he  is 
him 
co- 
out, 
fism, 
the 
h'fe 


proach,'  **  and  she  was  your  guest.  Men,  men!  will  you  stand 
here — you  who  have  mothers,  sisters,  wives,  daughters — and 
let  d  helpless  girl  perish  without  cue  efiPort?  Cowards,  alll 
By  Heaven!  Til  have  a  boat  if  I  have  to  take  it  by  force!" 

'*  That  you  shall,  Launce  Lauriston!"  cried  a  sturdy  young 
fellow,  leai'ing  forward.  **  You  shall  have  my  boat,  and  I'll 
go  with  you.  1  have  neither  mother,  wife,  sister,  nor  daugh- 
ter, but  I've  a  girl  1  love,  and  for  her  saiie,  I'll  never  stand 
by  and  see  a  woman  perish  before  my  very  eyes.  Halloo!" 
with  a  wild  cheer;  *'  this  way,  Lauriston,  and  God  speed  us!" 

The  two  young  men  grasped  hands — a  fierce  death-grip — 
and  looked  for  a  second  in  each  other's  flashing  eyes  by  the 
lightning's  gleam.  Then  they  had  bounded  off,  and  the  group 
left  behind  looked  at  one  another  with  awe-struck  faces. 

"They  have  gone  to  their  death!"  said  a  solemn  voice. 
**  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  their  souls!" 

**  Amen!"  groaned  Squire  Rayfield.  **  And  may  the  good 
Lord  keep  me  from  ever  meeting  that  mad  boy's  widowed 
mother!" 

*'  They  have  launched  the  boat!"  cried  a  third  voice. 
"Look,  men — look!  There  they  go,  i oiling  through  the 
breakers.  1  didn't  think  they  could  ha'  done  it.  They'll 
make  Pirate's  Rock  now,  but  they'll  be  ground  to  powder 
there." 

By  the  almost  continuous  flashing  of  the  lightning  they 
coufd  see  the  fisherman's  boai;  reeling  through  the  mad  waves 
for  a  moment  or  two.  The  double  darkness  of  night  and 
storm  swallowed  it  up. 

**  It's  an  awful  task  they've  undertook,"  said  an  old  man; 
**  but  it's  to  save  a  human  life,  and  the  good  God  will  help 
them.  Two  better  men  couldn't  be  found  to  manage  a  boat 
than  young  Lauriston  and  Joe  Weldon." 

The  boat  reeled  on.  Through  the  blackness  of  night  and 
storm,  only  lighted  by  the  lurid  glare  of  the  lightning,  with 
the  terrible  thunder  breaking  over  their  heads,  with  the  fren- 
zied waves  hissing  and  howling  above  and  below  them,  with 
the  pitiless  rain  drenching  them  to  the  bone,  the  two  young 
heroes  bent  to  their  task. 

Oh,  surely  the  God  who  holds  the  sea  in  the  hollow  of  His 
hand  upheld  that  frail  bark! 

She  reeled  on — tossing,  sinking,  filling;  she  held  bravely  on 
her  way.  They  could  see  the  topmost  crag  of  Pirate's  Kock 
by  the  fitful  lightning's  gleam. 

**  I  know  where  we  can  land,"  shouted  Joe  Weldon,  at  the 
•or)  of  his  voice.     **  Due  south,  Lauriston — due  south." 


.'I 


I 


152 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEk. 


f' 


I!     ".li 


I 


It  was  the  sheltered  nook — if  sheltered  it  could  bft  called 
now — where  Eudora  had  run  her  dory  ashore. 

Through  the  fierce  breakers  they  drove  their  boat  aground, 
and  Launcelot  leaped  out. 

**  Wait  here,  Weld  on,"  he  called.  **  If  she  is  on  the  rock 
I'll  find  her  in  five  seconds." 

The  boiling  waves  beat  almost  to  the  top,  but  the  tide  was 
not  yet  at  its  highest,  and  a  few  feet  still  remained  bare. 

It  was  hardly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  when,  with  her 
last  thought  of  him,  Eudora  Varneck  had  crouched  down  to 
die. 

A  little  soaked  heap,  she  crouched  there  still,  oblivious,  in 
her  stupor  of  despair,  of  all  the  horrors  around  her.  The 
worst  pain  of  death,  the  keenest  agony,  was  over.  A  merciful 
stupor  held  her  now. 

A  wild,  delirious  shout  of  exultation  resounded  above  the 
frantic  howling  of  the  storm.  With  that  mad  cry  of  delight, 
Launcelot  Lauriston  caught  the  poor  little  frail  figure  in  his 
strong  arms  as  though  it  had  been  a  feather's  weight. 

**My  darling!  my  angel!  my  love!  my  life!  Oh,  thank 
God— thank  God!" 

Then,  holding  her  there,  strained  to  his  heart,  he  broke  out 
into  a  fierce  paroxysm  of  weeping — man's  weeping — wild  and 
bitter;  such  tears  as  in  all  his  life  before  he  had  never  shed. 

She  opened  her  eyes.  There  was  life  enough  left  to  know 
the  voice — to  feel  in  whose  passionate  clasp  she  was  held. 

**  Launcelot!"  she  whispered,  feebly.  **  I  thought  you 
would  come." 

Then  the  blue  eyes  closed  again,  and  she  lay  still  and  mo- 
tionless against  his  breast. 

He  carried  her  to  the  boat;  he  laid  her  carefully  at  his  feet 
in  the  bottom,  and  once  again  seized  the  oars. 

*'  Now  back!"  he  cried.  "  The  Providence  that  has 
brought  us  safely  thus  far  will  bring  us  safely  home." 

Once  more  they  bent  to  their  task.  The  shoreward  journey 
was  less  perilous  than  the  outward,  for  wind  and  tide  were  in 
their  favor.  But  the  risk  was  fearful.  The  boat  danced  like 
a  cockle-shell  on  top  of  the  boiling  waves,  in  danger  every  in- 
stant of  being  swamped. 

They  knew  their  peril  fully,  those  two  brave  fellows,  but 
they  never  flinched,  as,  with  every  nerve  braced  and  strained, 
they  rowed  ashore.  And  still  the  little  figure  in  the  bottom 
lay  still  as  stone. 

They  reached  the  shore — they  landed.  A  wild  '*  hurrah!" 
that  rang  over  all  the  raging  of  wind  and  sea,  greeted  them  at 


■▼w;  ;  ,r.-Tr:T7T 


lalled 

und, 

jrock 

was 

her 
^n  to 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWES. 


155 


they  gprnng  out.  Torches  flashed  through  the  darkness  now^ 
their  red  glare  lighting  up  the  terrible  scene. 

Women  were  there  as  well  as  men — women  weeping,  or 
praying,  or  cowering  with  mental  terror.  Only  two  stood 
loremost  who  neither  wept  nor  trembled  in  that  supreme  hour 
— the  mother  of  Launcelot  Lauriston  and  Joe  Weldon's 
plighted  wife. 

The  young  doctor  lifted  his  lifeless  burden  from  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  staggered  forward,  and  laid  her  in  Squire  Kay- 
field's  arnis^ 

*'  God  bless  you,  my  brave  Launce!"  the  old  man  said, 
sobbing  aloud,     **  God  forever  bless  you  for  this  night's  work!" 

'*  My  boy — my  boy!"  his  mother  said,  coming  forward  with 
outstretched  arms.     **  My  own  heroic  son!" 

"  Mother!"  he  exclaimed,  **  you  here?" 

He  made  a  step  forward,  reeled  blindly,  and  fell  fainting  in 
the  arms  of  Thompson  the  fisherman. 


■;i 


CHAPTER  V. 

OLD   FRIENDS  MEET. 

With  the  brilliant  summer  sunshine  flooding  her  room,  with 
canary  birds  singing  among  roses  and  geraniums  in  the  win- 
dows, Eudora  Varneck  opened  her  eyes  upon  this  mortal  life 
once  more. 

They  were  all  clustered  around  her  bed — the  squire  and  his 
wife,  and  old  Dr.  Harper  of  the  village. 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  vaguely  recognizing  them, 
yet  evidently  puzzled. 

**  Have  I  been  sick?"  she  asked.     *'  Why  am  I  in  bed?" 

How  weak  her  voice  sounded!  how  tenderly,  how  pityingly, 
they  all  Icoised  upon  her! 

**  You  have  not  been  very  well,  my  dear  Miss  Varneck," 
Dr.  Harper  replied,  briskly;  *'  but,  with  the  help  of  Provi- 
dence, you'll  be  better  than  ever  directly.  Now,  don't  talk, 
like  a  good  little  girl.  Take  this  nice  drink  and  go  off 
asleep." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead.  The  bewildered 
iook  began  to  give  place  to  one  of  wild  affright. 

■*The  boat!"  she  cried,  shrilly — **  the  boat  went  adrift! 
And  the  storm,  the  rain,  and  the  lightning— and  1  was  alone 
on  Pirate's  Rock!    Did  I  dream  it,  or  what  does  it  mean?" 

**  Dreamed  it,  of  course,  my  dear,"  said  the  brisk  doctor; 
'*  and  a  nasty  dream  it  must  have  been.     But  you're  all  rigm 


104 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


now.  I  wouldn't  think  about  it,  if  I  were  you.  Here's 
something  good.     Take  it  and  fall  asleep." 

The  doctor's  **  something  good  "  proved  to  be  a  particularly 
nauseous  draught,  but  she  swallowed  it  obediently,  and  in 
five  minutes  was  sound  asleep. 

**  She'll  do  nicely  now,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  satisfied 
nod.  "  Keep  the  room  dark  and  quiet,  and  she'll  sleep  all 
day.  Next  time  she  awakes,  she'll  be  apt  to  recollect  all. 
You  may  answer  her  questions.  It  won't  do  to  keep  her  in  a 
fever  of  suspense.'* 

Hours  passed.  The  sunlit  day  had  given  place  to  starlit 
night  when  Eudora  again  awoke.  A  shaded  lamp  burned 
upon  the  table,  and  a  long-unseen  but  dear  and  familiar  face 
was  the  first  object  that  met  her  eyes. 

"  Papa!"  she  said,  with  a  joyful  cry. 

Colonel  Varneck,  but  little  changed  by  his  eight  years' 
travel,  bent  down  and  kissed  the  pretty  face. 

**  My  dear  little  girl — my  darling  daughter!  Papa  has 
come  for  you  at  last." 

The  effect  of  the  opiate  had  not  yet  worn  away.  She 
nestled  her  hand  in  his,  took  a  few  tea-spoonfuls  of  essence  of 
beef,  and,  with  a  loving,  contented  smile,  dropped  asleep  once 
more. 

Once  again  the  sun  shone,  and  the  canaries  chirped  amid  the 
roses  and  geraniums  when  she  awoke — this  time  with  a  cool 
head  and  a  clear  brain.  Her  father  still  sat  by  her  bedside, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rayfield  were  there,  too. 

**  Better,  my  precious  girl?"  her  father  asked,  bending 
above  her. 

**  Better?"  she  repeated,  with  a  puzzled  face.  **  I  haven't 
been  sick,  have  I?  I  feel  quite  well.  Ah,  1  remember  I" 
Her  eyes  went  from  face  to  face,  with  a  frightened  look  on 
her  own.  **  Pirate's  Eock — the  boat — the  storm — that  awful, 
awful  night!" 

She  shuddered  from  head  to  foot  and  covered  her  eyes  with 
her  hands.     Suddenly  she  dropped  them  and  half  sat  up. 

**  Who  saved  me?"  she  cried.  **  Some  one  came  through 
all  the  tempest,  at  the  last  moment,  and  carried  me  away. 
Was  it  an  angel,  or  was  it — " 

She  stopped. 

The  squire  looked  piteously  at  his  wife.  Mrs.  Bayfield  CiMne 
cheerily  forward. 

**  No  angel,  my  dear,  but  two  very  courageous  young  men 
-^oe  Weldon  the  fisherman  and — Doctor  Lauriston. " 


THE    HEIBES8    OF    GLEK    GOVvER. 


I5J^ 


t« 


The  girrs  pale  face  turned  luminous.  A  rosy  light  dawned 
softly  through  her  pallor  over  neck,  and  cheek,  and  brow. 

*'  Doctor  Lauriston,"  she  repeated,  softly,  as  if  the  name 
were  sweet  music.     *'  Then  it  was  no  dream?'* 

The  rosy  light  deepened  and  deepened.  She  turned  away 
from  them  all,  trembling  and  thrilling  from  head  to  foot.  It 
all  came  back — his  kisses,  his  caresses,  the  name  he  had  called 
her.  She  could  feel  the  straining  clasp  of  his  heart  against 
her  own. 

"My  love!  my  love!"  she  thought.  **My  darling!  my 
hero!  1  refused  him — I  seemed  him — and  this  is  his  re- 
venge!" 

*'  Eudora,"  her  father  said,  gently  breaking  the  silence, 

my  own  dear  girl,  why  do  you  shrink  and  tremble  now? 
Yoa  are  safe  with  us  all,  through  Heaven's  great  mercy." 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly  and  held  out  both  arms. 

*' Oh,  papa!"  she  said,  with  an  eloquent  cry,  **  he  saved 
my  life  twice,  at  the  risk  of  his  own — once  from  a  maddened 
mob  and  devouring  flames,  and  again  from  drowning  on 
Pirate's  Rock.  Oh,  papa,  papa!  go  and  tell  him  how  grateful 
I  am  now — how  sorry  I  feel  for  the  past — how  dearly  I  love 
him!" 

The  words  broke  from  her  in  spite  of  herself;  her  father 
Xooked  at  the  squire  and  his  wife  with  a  puzzled  face. 

**  Tell  whom?"  he  asked.     **  Whom  does  she  mean?" 

**  Young  Doctor  Lauriston,  I  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Rayfield, 
fidgeting.  **  My  dear,  you  are  excited.  Pray  don't  say  any- 
thing more  now.  This  young  man,  colonel — he  is  a  young 
professional  gentleman  of  our  village — has  twice  been  fortu- 
nate enough  to  save  Miss  Varneck's  I'fe,  it  appears:  once  dur- 
ing the  riot  week  in  New  York,  and  again,  two  nights  ago, 
from  perishing  on  Pirate's  Rock." 

"  What  did  you  say  his  name  was?"  asked  the  colonel, 
with  a  blank  stare. 

**  Lauriston^ — Doctor  Launcelot  Lauriston." 

**  Launcelot  Lauriston?    Do  I  hear  aright?" 

It  was  their  turn  to  stare  now  at  the  utter  amazement,  the 
complete  consternation,  in  the  questioner's  face. 

**  Certainly!"  replied  Mrs.  Rayfield,  in  surprise.  **  You 
don't  know  him,  do  you,  colonel?  Unless  you  met  him  in  his 
boyhood,  it  is  impossible,  for  during  the  last  eight  years  he 
and  his  widowed  mother  have  been  residents  of  our  village." 

**  No,"  said  Colonel  Varneck;  but  the  dazed  look  still  re- 
mained. "'  No,  I  never  met  your  Doctor  Lauriston.  By  the 
bye,  how  old  is  he?' 


itf 


Jl 


156 


THB    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


(I 


u 


Twenty,  or  thereabouts. 


»> 


No/'  reiterated  the  colonel,  slowly  recovering  himself, 
**  1  never  met  Doctor  Launcelot  Lauriston;  but  I  once — I 
once  knew  another  person  of  that  name.  It  was  the  coinci- 
dence struck  me.  It  is  a  name  one  doesn't  mee<  every  day. 
And  so  this  young  hero  saved  your  life  twice,  my  dear?' 
binding  above  his  daughter;  *'  and  you  want  me  to  go  and 
thank  him?" 

**  If  you  please,  papa.  He  is  so  good,  so  noble,  and  1 — 
DL,  you  don't  know  what  a  bad,  bad,  bad  girl  1  have  bcenl" 

Her  voice  choked,  and  she  suddenly  turned  away  her  head. 

**  I  think  I  unuerstand."  Colonel  Varneck  said,  gravely, 

*  My  dear  little  gir)  must  not  worry  herself  over  this  matter. 

i  will  seb  if  I  can  not  make  it  all  right.     Where  does  our 

uiodern  Cceur  de  Lion  li\  j,  Ray  field?    I  should  like  to  see  him 

at  once,  on  more  accounts  than  one. ' ' 

Again  the  squire  and  his  wife  exchanged  looks.  The 
squire's  face  was  the  picture  of  helpless  perplexity;  his  wife's 
said,  plainly,  **  Let  him  go.     He  may  be  in  time  yet." 

"  I  il  go  with  you,  colonel,"  the  squire  said,  starting  up. 
**  I'm  an  old  friend  of  the  family.     Let  us  start  at  once. 

The  two  men  left  the  house  and  walked  briskly  down  the 
village  street.     Both  were  unusually  silent  and  grave. 

The  sound  of  that  long-unheard  name  had  strangely  startled 
Colonel  Varneck,  and  Squire  Ray  field  had  his  own  reasons  for 
fearing  Miss  Varneck's  impulsive  repentance  came  too  late. 

And  the  squire  was  right.  Long  before  the  pretty  wnite 
cottage  among  the  rose-vines  wiis  reached,  he  could  see  that 
the  shutters  were  up  and  the  shop  closed. 

**  It  is  as  I  suspected,"  he  said,  gravely.    "  They  are  gone. " 

**  Gone?"  echoed  Colonel  Varneck.     "  Who?" 

"Mrs.  Lauriston  and  her  son.  See-— tue  house  U  closed, 
the  shop  shut^  the  blinds  a'i  made  fast.     They  have  gone." 

'*  And  \7here,  pray,  have  Uiey  gone  to?" 

**  That  is  more  than  I  know.  The  last  time  T  saw  Mrs. 
Lauriston,  1  inferred  from  what  she  said  that  her  son  had 
resolved  upon  quitting  Silver  Shore  for  good,  and  she  had  re- 
solved on  accompanying  him.  They  were  very  proud  people; 
and  the  fact  is.  Colonel  Varneck,"  blurted  out  the  undiplo- 
matic squire,  **  this  young  fellow,  Lauriston,  loved  yonr 
daughter  very  dearly,  and  took  her  refusal  terribly  to  heart." 

Colonel  Varneck  regarded  the  speaker  in  complete  astonish- 
ment. 

**  Loved  my  daughter!  took  her  r^jfusal  to  heart!  Do  you 
mean  to  say,  Kayfield,  matters  have  gone  so  far  as  that?" 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


157 


>y 


*' It  was  no  fault  of  ours,  colonel,"  said  the  squire,  peni- 
tently. '*  1  always  knew  it  wouldn't  do — I  always  said  so.  A 
finer  fellow,  physically,  mentally  and  morally  than  Launce 
Lauriston  the  sun  doesn't  shine  on;  but  then,  you  see,  he's 
poor — the  most  heinous  of  earthly  crimes — and  she's  an 
neiress.  But  for  all  that,"  added  the  squire,  somewhat  incon- 
sequently,  '*  she  likes  him  better  than  she  dreams  of,  although 
she  reffused  him  in  the  maple  walk.'' 

Colonel  Varneck  made  no  reply.  His  own  youth  came 
vividly  back  to  him — his  own  early  dream,  when  he  also  had 
been  Launcelot  Lauriston  and  gave  the  woi  ^  for  love. 
Whether  it  were  well  lost,  he  alone  knew. 

The  wife  of  his  youth  was  his  still,  loving  him  with  a  pas- 
sionate, jealous,  exacting  love;  and  yet  a  sense  of  somociilng 
wanting,  something  altered,  something  too  vague  to  name, 
left  his  heart  full  of  dreary  pain  and  emptiness. 

He  loved  his  wife  as  he  had  loved  her  in  those  blissful 
months,  or  strove  hard  to  do  so;  but  the  sense  of  loss  was 
there  always — the  only  painful  thing  in  his  existence.  He 
knew  what  his  wife's  and  mother's  ambitious  dreams  were  for 
the  future  of  their  daughter,  but  in  their  match-making 
schemes  he  had  no  part. 

*'  I  am  sc'ry  this  young  man  is  gone,"  he  said,  breaking 
the  silence.  **  1  owe  him  a  heavy  debt.  I  should  have  liked 
to  thank  him,  at  least. " 

*'  Look  there!"  exclaimed  the  squire,  abruptly.  **  There 
is  some  one  closing  the  garden  gate — an  odd-looking  customer, 
too,  and  a  stranger  here.  What  can  he  want  at  the  widow's 
cottage?  By  George!  it's  the  noseless  chap  that  first  brought 
Mrs.  Lauriston  here.  It's  all  right,  colonel !  If  any  one  can 
tell  us  of  our  lost  birds'  whereabouts,  here's  the  man!" 

They  were  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  gate.  At  the  sound 
of  the  squire's  loud  voice,  the  stranger — a  tall  man  wearing  a 
cloak — turned  round  and  faced  them. 

Colonel  Varneck  came  to  a  dead  halt,  with  an  exclamation 
of  amazement,  and  the  sallow  face  of  the  stranger  turned,  for 
an  instant,  absolutely  livid. 

The  two  men  stood  blankly  staring  at  each  other  in  speech' 
leas  surprise. 

**  Thousand  thunders!"  cried  the  tall  stranger  in  the  cloak; 
**  can  I  believe  my  eyes?    Is  it  really  you,  mon  colonel?" 

**  Captain  Dandin!"  exclaimed  the  colonel;  *'  this  is  an 
astonisher!  Where,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  astounding,  do 
you  drop  from?" 

Captain  Dandin,  as  little  altered  by  time  as  the  handsome 


1  i 


168 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


colonel  himself^  caugbi*  that  gentleman's  hand  and  wrung  it 
with  effusion. 

**  The  last  place  on  the  habitable  globe  1  should  look  to 
meet  you,  yuan  colonel !  And  you  can  return  the  compliment, 
my  faith!  Sucre  bleu  !  how  oddly  these  things  come  about  I 
I  thinlc  you  are  safe  in  delightful  Glen  Govver,  and  you  think 
1  am  knocking  around  in  some  bigf,  bustling  city  oi  the  Old 
World,  and  lol  we  both  stumble  over  each  other  in  this  lost 
corner  of  Massachusetts.  How  melodramatic,  to  be  sure!  And 
how  is  our  stately  Madame  Varneck,  and  our  beautiful  Mrs. 
Varneck,  and  the  charming  little  Dora?  Well  and  happy,  I 
earnestly  trust!" 

**  Tolerably  well,  and,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  toler- 
ably happy  also.  But  what  the  deuce,  Dandin,*'  the  colonel 
exclaimed,  his  ungovernable  astonishment  getting  the  better 
of  him,  **  brings  you,  of  all  people,  to  Silver  Shore?" 

"  And  why  not  I,  mon  colonelV  answered  the  noseless  cap- 
tain, in  his  old,  airy  manner.  "  Does  my  colonel  think  poor 
Dandin  can  have  no  friends  in  this  big  world?  I  come  to  see 
my  charming  protegees—the  interesting  widow  and  her  clever 
son." 

**  Your  protegees!"  with  a  puzzled  look.  *'  I  didn't  know 
ton  had  turned  philanthropist,  Dandin." 

**  No,"  the  captain  said,  in  his  sprightly  way;  **  the  world 
never  ga<e  Dandin  more  than  his  due.  Never  mind  that — 
let  us  talk  about  your  interesting  family. " 

**  But  I  must  mind  this,  even  before  my  interesting  family, 
since  I  want  to  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Lauriston  and 
her  son. " 

**Youdo?    And  why?" 

**  Because  the  young  man  has  just  saved  my  daughter's 
life." 

**  The  pretty  little  Doral  And  he  saved  her  life?  How  was 
it,  my  colonel?" 

Colonel  Varneck  related  in  brief  the  little  episode  of 
Pirate's  Rock. 

**  Mon  Dieu  !  how  thrilling!  And  my  clever  boy  is  a  hero, 
after  all!  Ah!  I  always  thought  it  was  in  him.  And  the 
pretty  little  Dora  is  still  here,  then?  I  shall  be  happy  to  see 
her.     How  long  has  she  been  here,  my  colonel?" 

**  Nearly  a  month.  How  came  these  people  to  be  prot6g6es 
of  yours,  Dandin?" 

*'  By  the  merest  chance  in  the  world.  After  1  left  Glen 
Gower  1  fell  in  with  them;  they  were  poor — oh,  how  poor  they 
were  I — they  were  interesting  —  they  were  charming;  I  gave 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


169 


them  money — I  took  them  here — 1  set  them  up  in  the  prettj 
little  fancy  store.     There,  you  have  it,  my  colonel. " 

**  And  you  have  never  seen  them  since?" 

**  Never  since  I  The  big  ocean  rolled  between  us;  I  come 
bacic,  after  eight  long  years;  I  run  down  to  see  my  interest- 
ing pensioners,  and,  behold  I  I  find  the  nest  empty — the  birdi 
flown!" 

**  Flown  whither?    They  have  surely  left  word,  Dandin?" 

*'  Left  no  word,  my  colonel.  How  were  they  to  know  Dan- 
din  was  coming?  And  you  really  wanted  to  see  them?  What 
a  pity  you  chanced  to  bo  too  late!" 

His  black  eyes  flashed  with  a  sinister  gleam.  Squire  Hay- 
field,  hovering  aloof,  eyed  him  distrustfully. 

**  He  has  a  hang-dog  look,  that  foreign  fellow  without  the 
nose.  He  looks  like  anything  but  a  benefactor  of  his  species, 
and  yet  Mrs.  Lauriston  was  never  done  singing  his  praises!" 

**  Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  my  friend  Squire  Ray- 
field,  Captain  Dandin,"  naid  the  colonel,  leading  him  up;  **  a 
very  old  Tricad,  at  whose  house  Eudora  has  been  stopping." 

The  squire  bowed  stifily  in  return  for  the  airy  captain's 
flourishing  salute  and  rapidly  rolled  off  sentences. 

**  I  have  heard  of  Captain  Dandin  before,"  said  the  squire, 
**  from  our  mutual  friend  Mr.  Lauriston.  My  wife  and  1 
will  feel  ourselves  honored  by  your  company  at  dinner,  sir." 

Again  the  captain  bowed — his  white  teeth  and  bright  smile 
at  their  most  brilliant,  and  his  voluble  sentences  deluging  the 
plain  squire. 

* '  So  happy,  my  dear  sir — so  delighted  at  the  prospect  of 
once  more  beholding  my  pretty  little  friend  Miss  Dora.  A 
charming  young  lady  now,  no  doubt.  How  my  poor  little 
Fairy  will  be  charmed  and  honored  to  make  her  acquaintance, 
with  your  kind  permission,  m-on  colonel!*' 

'*  Fairy!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Varneck.  "  You  don't  mean 
to  say,  Dandin,  your  daughter  is  here,  too?" 

*'  In  New  York,  my  colonel — waiting  dutifully  for  papa's 
return.  You  will  find  her  changed  since  you  saw  her  in 
Spain.  Shot  up  like — how  do  you  call  him?— Jack  of  the 
Beanstalk,  and  remarkably  handsome;  so  they  tell  me;  1  don't 
profegp  to  be  a  judge;  but  not  one  half  so  handsome,  I  am 
certain,  as  the  pretty  little  Dora. " 

**  Confound  his  eternal  clack!"  thought  the  squire.  **  How 
he  does  run  onl" 

The  captain  continued  to  **  run  on  "  until  they  reached  the 
house.  Colonel  Varneck  went  at  once  to  his  daughter's  room 
to  report  his  lack  of  success. 


100 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


He  foand  her  sitting  up,  looking  pale  aud  pretty  in  a  white 
muslin  wrapper,  all  ner  bright  liuir  freshly  curled,  and  a 
brilliant,  expectant  flush  on  her  cheek.  It  went  to  the 
soldier's  heart  to  disappoint  that  eager,  girlish  hope. 

**  We  were  a  little  too  late  this  time,  my  dear/*  ho  said, 
kissing  the  pale  forehead  tenderly.     *'  We  found  them  gone." 

♦•  Gone?'* 

*'  Yes,  my  dear — left  the  village,  it  appears,  mother  and  son. 
The  house  is  shut  up.  There,  there!  don't  put  on  that 
grieved  face;  we'll  find  your  friends  yet,  if  they're  above 
ground,  and  thank  your  preserver  with  all  our  hearts. " 

She  made  no  reply.  She  suddenly  turned  away  her  face 
from  him. 

"  1  met  another  old  friend,  though — you  remember  him,  I 
dare  say,  Dora — Captain  Dandin." 

**  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

**  He  returned  to  the  house  with  us.  He  is  going  to  stay 
for  dinner.  He  would  very  much  like  to  see  *  little  Dora ' 
again.'* 

'*  Not  now,  papa,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  wail — '*  not  to- 
day. My  head  aches,  and  1  feel —  Oh,  papa!"  with  a  stifled 
Bob,  '*  please  leave  me  alone  for  a  little  while!" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her,  with  a  face  of  tender  pity,  and 
rose  at  once  and  left  tlie  room. 

**  My  poor  little  girl!"  he  said — '*  my  little,  tender- hearted 
Dora!  the  bitter  lesson  of  life — lost  love — has  come  to  you  as 
well  as  the  rest  of  us.  I  am  sorry  for  you— I  am  sorry  for  this 
brave  young  hero;  but,  as  the  squire  says,  *  it  won't  do,  my 
dear — it  won't  do!'  " 

And  Eudora,  left  alone,  ran  and  locked  her  door,  and  then 
flung  herself,  as  women  do,  whether  the  pain  be  in  the  head 
or  heart,  faoe  downward  among  the  pillows,  and  wept  the  bit- 
terest tears  she  had  ever  shed  in  the  eighteen  years  of  her 
bright  young  life. 

CHAPTER  VL 

THE  captain's   DAUGHTER. 

She  sat  by  the  window  alone,  looking  steadfastly  out  at  the 
ceaseless  stream  of  human  life  pouring  up  and  down  Broad- 
way. The  August  afternoon  was  gray  and  overcast,  threaten- 
ing speedy  rain;  but  Broadway  was  crowded,  and  silks,  and 
lace,  and  pretty  faces  swept  down  to  meet  mustaches  and  tali 
hats  coming  up. 

Stages  rattled  noisily  by;   stately  carriages,  with  liyeried 


THI    HEIRE8S    OF    OLIN    OOWBB. 


in 


whit« 
md  a 
0  the 

said^ 


vMchmen,  rolled  after;  organ-grinders  ground  out  their  stale 
tunes,  and  beggars  stood  at  corners  whining  their  pitiful  ories. 

She  sat  and  watched  it  all — the  ever-shifting  panorama, 
years  old  ^et  ever  new,  doubly  new  to  her,  since  she  saw  it  for 
the  first  time. 

A  tail  and  handsome  girl,  with  a  dark  face  lighted  up  into 
the  splendor  of  vivid  beauty  by  a  pair  of  wonderful  black  eyes. 
Masses  of  blue-black  hair  were  coiled  and  twisted  and  braided, 
as  though  there  were  no  end  to  its  abundance,  around  a 
shapely  head,  held  haughtily  aloft  on  a  slender  throat.  A 
beauty  born,  by  right  divine  of  that  wondrous  fall  of  hair  and 
the  luminous  glory  of  those  flashing  eyes,  yet  with  a  strangely 
worn  and  weary  look  marring  its  youthful  Brightness.  Hoflow 
circles  surrounded  those  Spanish  eyes,  and  haggard  lines 
marred  the  perfect  beauty  of  that  exquisite  mouth. 

She  was  quite  alone.  She  had  sat  there  alone  the  livelong 
day.  Doors  opened  and  shut — for  her  room  was  in  a  busy 
hotel — gay  voices  and  laughter  echoed  along  the  carpeted  cor- 
ridors, but  no  one  came  near  her. 

Alone  she  sat — a  **  stranger  in  a  strange  lar'^  '' — more  soli- 
tary in  the  heart  of  the  great  city  than  she  might  have  been 
in  the  depths  of  a  primeval  forest.  A  sighing  wind  began  to 
wail  fitfully  as  the  afternoon  wore  on,  sending  the  dust  in 
blinding  clouds  before  it  The  girl's  dark,  haggard  eyes  wont 
to  the  overcast  sky. 

**  Cold  and  gray,*'  she  said,  **  like  my  life  I" 

She  rose  with  a  sort  of  shiver,  and  began  to  pace  slowly  up 
and  down.  She  was  unusually  tall,  with  the  grace  and  bear- 
ing of  a  queen,  and  her  plain  black  silk  dress  trailed  in  heavy 
folds  to  the  carpet  with  statuesque  grace. 

**  Oh!"  she  thought,  with  a  weary  sigh,  **  what  happy 
women  there  are  in  the  world!  Young  girls,  shielded  by  ten- 
der love  from  all  the  misery,  and  cruelty,  and  crime  of  this 
big,  bad  earth — girls  who  love  and  are  beloved,  pure  and  in- 
nocent to  the  last!  Happy  wives —thrice  blessed  mothers!  I 
have  seen  them  go  by  to-day,  and  I  never  knew  before  what  a 
lost  and  hardened  wretch  I  was!  Only  nineteen!" — she 
stopped,  leaning  heavily  against  the  casement — **  only  nine- 
teen, and  tired  of  life  already!" 

A  carriage  drew  up  before  the  door. 

She  looked  at  it  listlessly.  The  door  opened  and  two  men 
aprung  out,  and  at  sight  of  the  foremost  the  girl  started  sud- 
denly erect,  galvaniz^  into  new  life. 

"*  At  last!"  she  said,  between  set,  white  teeth.  **  My  brief 
holiday  is  at  an  end.    He  is  here  once  more^  and  the  old  game 


4  ! 

I 


J 


162 


IHE    HEIRESS    OF    GhES    GOWER. 


i 


of  cheating  and  lying,  and  craffc  and  cunning,  must  begin. 
Are  those  people  his  first  victims  in  this  land,  and  what  is  my 
r61e  in  the  new  play,  I  wonder?" 

She  resumed  her  seat  by  the  window,  and  the  darkly  hand- 
Bome  face  settled  into  a  look  of  still  disdain  that  seemed  habit- 
ual to  it,  as  if  she  scorned  herself  too  much  to  seek  to  hide  it. 

An  instant  later,  and  the  door  was  thrown  open  by  an  im- 
petuous hand,  and  Captain  Dandin  the  sprightly  came  in. 

**  She  is  here  I"  cried  the  captain.  **  My  Fairy,  my  only 
one!  grown  out  of  all  knowledge.  Waiting  for  papa,  my 
precious,  and  lonely  in  this  big,  noisy,  dirty  city — as  lonely  as 
can  be?  Look,  my  colonel!  Look,  dear  Miss  Dora  I  Behold 
the  male  Cornelia  and  his  jewel — behind  Dandiu  and  his 
daughter!'' 

The  young  lady  rose  and  submitted  with  still  scorn  to  her 
father's  rapturous  French  embrace.  Then  the  great  dark  eyefe 
turned  in  calm  scrutiny  upon  Colonel  Varneck  and  Eudora. 

'*  Fairy  has  forgotten  an  old  friend,  I  am  afraid,"  the 
colonel  said,  coming  fnr".vard,  with  that  genial  smile  which 
lighted  up  his  sunburned  face  so  beautifully;  *'  yet  Fairy  and 
tfie  *  big  American  gei  tleman  '  were  great  friends  once,  in  old 
Valencia." 

She  made  a  step  forward,  her  black  eyes  kindling,  her  whole 
face  lighting  up.  A  red  glow  and  i,  brilliant  smiie  illumined 
her  dark  loveliness  with  magical  bee  uty. 

**  In  Valencia?"  she  repeated.  **  The  sick  gentleman  1 
helped  to  nurse?    Oh,  I  remembe. !     It  is  Colonel  Varneck." 

"  Colonel  Varneck,  and  unutterably  glad  to  meet  his  kind 
little  Spanish  nurse  once  more.  But  little  no  lf>nger — grown, 
as  your  father  save,  out  of  all  knowledge,  and  with  the  promise 
of  her  childhood  more  than  fulfilled.  Come  here,  Eudora, 
and  help  me  welcome  Miss  Dandin  to  America.  You  are  to 
be  bosom  friends,  young  ladies,  so  the  sooner  you  begin,  the 
better." 

Captain  Dandin's  daughter  hesitated  an  instant,  and  a 
dark-red  g*  >w  rose  up  k)  her  very  brow.  But  impulsive 
Eudora's  arms  were  around  her — warm-hearted  Eudora's  lips 
were  pressed  to  hers. 

"  I  am  sure  we  will  be  the  best  of  friends,"  she  whispered, 
•*  even  if  papa  had  never  said  it.     1  like  you  already," 

Miss  Dandin  submitted  to  the  embrace  as  she  had  submitted 
to  her  father's,  but  she  did  not  return  it.  Some  inward  feel- 
ing left  two  scarlet  spots,  quite  foreign  to  her  usual  oomplea- 
ion,  burning  on  either  cheek,  and  she  looked  for  an  instant  at 
the  captain,  with  a  light  that  was  absolately  sarage  in  her 


bit 

us 

fe. 
M 

cc 

H 

oi 
Ic 
ir 

n 

t] 
a 

0 


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( 


1^4^ 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB, 


163 


fegin, 
iflmy 

laud- 
labit- 

Ide  it. 

|q  im- 

■ 

only 
,  my 
sly  as 
fehold 
Id  his 


black  eyes.    But  that  florid  gentleman  was  gushing  in  his 
usual  vivacious  fashion. 

**  Ah,  my  Heaven  I  how  charming,  how  sweet  I  such  a  per- 
fect picture  of  youth  and  lovelineus,  and  innocence  and  beauty  I 
My  dark  Fairy  and  the  sunny  little  blonde.  Miss  Eudoral 
We  live  our  youth  over  again  in  our  children,  do  we  not,  my 
colonel?    And  what  an  exquisite  sentiment  that  is!" 

Colonel  Varneck  made  no  reply  to  this  enthusiastic  gush. 
He  was  looking  with  deep  interest  at  the  dark,  statuesque  faco 
of  the  captain's  daughter — very  statuesque  just  now.  It 
looked  as  though  it  were  cut  out  of  gray  stone,  as  she  sat  star- 
ing straight  before  her. 

**  And  how  do  you  like  New  York,  Fairy?"  he  asked.  **  I 
may  call  you  Fairy,  may  I  not?" 

"  You  may  call  me  anything  you  please.  It  sounds  as 
though  I  were  a  King  Charles  spaniel,  with  a  silver  collar  and 
a  wrinkled  nose;  but  as  I  never  happened  to  possess  a  namo 
of  my  own,  1  suppose  it  will  do  as  well  as  a  better." 

Captain  Dandin  laughed  in  his  airy,  light-hearted  way. 

*'  Fairy  is  cross,"  he  said;  **  and  when  Fairv  is  cross,  ma 
foi  !  the  sun  ceases  to  shine,  and  the  scheme  or  the  universe 
comes  to  an  end'  Fairy  feels  too  big  and  too  stately  for  so 
childish  an  appellation;  so,  mon  colonel,  when  Fairy  is  out  of 
temper  call  her  Valencia.  She  likes  that  better;  don't  you, 
my  own?" 

*'  His  own  "  answered  him  by  a  second  flash  of  her  black 
eyes,  then  turned  back  moodily  to  her  window. 

**  You  are  rude,  my  Fairy,"  her  father  murmured,  re- 
proachfully. **  You  do  not  answer  the  coloners  question. 
Do  you  like  New  York?" 

**  As  I  like  all  the  rest — Paris,  Naples,  Vienna,  Madrid, 
Lisbon,  Baden.  Where  is  the  difierence?  They  are  all  the 
same. " 

**  Fairy  is  blase!"  the  captain  exclaimed,  with  his  tinkling, 
laugh.  **  Such  a  traveler,  my  dear  Dora!  Over  the  world 
with  papa  during  the  past  six  years — here,  there,  everywhere; 
knows  each  capital  of  Europe  as  you  know  your  New  York. 
The  foolish  captain  is  idiotically  fond  of  his  tall  daughter. 
Life  witL';*it  her  would  be — how  do  you  name  it,  your  great 
desert? — Sahara?  So  we  have  gone  together  always;  so  we 
will  go  until  some  impetuous  young  lover — like  Prince 
Ghariiiing  in  the  story — comes  on  his  flery  charger  and  bears 
her  away.  And  then,  what  is  left  to  the  poor  old  captain? 
Why,  his  gray  hairs,  and  his  gruel,  and  his  grave." 

roT  the  thurd  time  his  daughter  looked  at  him— such  a  dark 


164, 


THE    HEIRESS   OF    OLElir   GOWEB. 


eaze  of  oonoentrated  scorn  that  even  the  colonel  ooula  liardl 
fail  to  see  it.     It  passed  like  a  flash.     Once  more  she  w4^ 
back,  watching  the  ceaseless  tide  of  life  ebbing  and  flowing  on 
the  street;  but  it  left  the  colonel  strangely  startled  and  un- 
easy. 

**  Then,  since  New  York  possesses  no  novelty,  no  interest 
for  you,"  he  said,  *'  you  will  not  regret  leaving  it.  You  will 
not  be  sorry  to  exchange  it  for  Gleu  Gower  and  our  humdrum 
country  life.  My  daughter  and  1  start  for  home  to-morrow, 
and  your  father  has  kindly  consented  to  accompany  us  with 
you — for  a  very  long  visit." 

She  bowed  low. 

**  My  father's  will  is  mine,"  she  said,  in  a  subdued  tone. 
**  It  is  as  he  decides." 

**  And  as  Fairy  prefers,  though  she  does  not  say  it.  Ah, 
Miss  Varneck,  I  foresee  that  my  daughter  and  you  will  go  on 
velvet!  To-day  Fairy  is  sulky;  to-morrow  Fairy  will  be  the 
sunshine  itself.     What!  going  so  soon?    Surely  not?" 

**  I  have  business  to  attend  to,  and  my  daughter  has  hosts 
of  friends  to  call  on,"  the  colonel  said,  rising.  **  We  really 
must.     Until  to-morrow,  then.  Miss  Dandin,  adieu!" 

She  rose  up  and  bowed  them  out,  with  a  certain  queenliness 
of  aspect  peculiar  to  her.  With  Eudora  she  shook  hands,  and 
the  heiress  of  Glen  Gower  was  altogether  too  much  impressed 
by  this  stately  Spanish  girl  to  attempt  to  kiss  her  for  the 
second  time. 

**  How  beautiful  she  is,  papa!"  she  cried,  when  the  carriage 
door  had  closed  upon  them.  **  But,  oh!  so  proud,  so  disdain- 
ful, so  haughty!    I  shall  always  be  afraid  of  her,  1  know." 

Left  to  themselves,  the  captain  and  his  daughter  faced  each 
other  with  the  air  of  two  accomplished  swordsmen  on  guard. 

There  were  occasions,  evidently,  when  the  captain  did  not 
gush,  and  this  was  one  of  them.  His  black  eyes  gleamed  with 
an  angry  fire;  hers  looked  back  at  him  steadily,  with  merciless 
contempt. 

'*  How  dare  you?"  he  said.  **  Are  you  going  mad,  Valen° 
cia  Dandin?" 

**  Why  did  you  bring  that  girl  here?"  she  asked  in  her  turn, 
in  a  cold,  measured  voice.  ''  To  make  me  feel  what  1  am  all 
the  more  keenly?  She  is  as  innocent  as  a  babe,  and  1 — what 
am  I,  Captain  Dandin?" 

**  Answer  your  own  question,"  he  said,  sullenly.  **  What 
are  you?  As  good  as  that  fair-haired  upstart,  with  her  baby 
face  and  mawkish  smile — better  than  she  iS/  although  Captain 
Dandin's  daughter." 


THE    HEIBEBS    OF    OLBN    OOWEB. 


166 


t( 


**  1  will  tell  you  what  I  am/'  the  girl  said,  bitterly — "  a 
eheat,  a  trickster,  a  false,  deceitful,  hypocritical  wretch! 
What  have  1  been  for  the  past  six  years,  dragged  about  from 
one  gambling-hell  to  another,  but  the  gilded  bait  with  which 
yor  fished  for  your  prey?  1  was  to  smile,  and  dress,  and  look 
pretty,  and  turn  the  heads  of  the  poor  fools  with  more  money 
than  brains,  while  jou  emptied  their  pockets  at  the  gaming- 
table.  The  Kursaals  of  Baden  and  Homburg,  and  such  places, 
have  been  the  stage  where  1  have  played  my  miserable,  lying 
part,  at  your  bidding,  listening  to  and  being  a  companion 
lor  men  that  Colonel  Varneck  would  think  his  spotless 
daughter  degraded  by  once  looking  at.  I  flattered  them,  and 
smiled  upon  them,  and  sung  for  them,  and  let  them  make 
love  to  me,  while  you  fleeced  them,  and  cheated  them  to  their 
idiotic  faces,  with  loaded  dice  and  marked  cards.  This  has 
been  my  life — this  is  what  I  am!  And  you  brine  this  girl 
here,  and  ask  me  to  be  her  companion — her  friend!  Father, 
have  you  no  heart,  no  conscience?  Look  at  me!  Old  before 
my  time,  with  the  knowledge  of  a  wicked  old  age  at  nineteenl 
What  girlhood  have  I  ever  had?  What  home?  Dragged 
about  the  world — through  the  worst  cities  of  Europe — ra^ 
home,  hotels  and  lodging-houses — my  associates,  gamblers  and 
adventurers — my  own  father  the  worst  among  them!  Is  there 
one  of  these  cities  I  have  named  where  the  police  do  not  know 
*  Dandin  and  his  daughter '  as  they  know  the  vilest  criminals? 
Father!"  with  a  fierce,  passionate  cry,  **  there  is  a  God,  and 
He  will  punish  you  for  what  you  have  done!" 

Captain  Dandin  stood  before  her,  listening"  to  this  impas- 
sioned harangue  with  an  icy  stare  and  smile.  He  clapped  his 
hands  softly  at  the  close,  and  broke  into  a  low,  derisive  laugh. 

**  Bravo!  encore!  I  did  not  think  it  was  in  you,  my  dear! 
It  must  be  the  air  of  free  America,  I  think,  for  I  never  heard 
you  run  on  so  glibly  before.  This  is  the  land  of  woman's 
rights,  and  free  speech,  and  strong-mindedness,  and  female 
orators,  and  other  pleasant  things  of  that  sort.  And  is  it 
catching,  I  wonder?  Have  you  quite  finished,  my  Fairy? 
Because  I  am  going  out.  '* 

She  sat  down,  sullenly  turning  her  back  upon  him. 

**  You  are  iron,"  she  said — **  you  are  harder  than  iron! 
You  have  neither  heart  nor  soul — you  fear  neither  God  nor 
Satan!  1  might  have  known  it.  1  had  better  have  held  my 
tongue." 

**  Much  better,  my  Fairy,  since  it  is  simply  a  waste  of  words 
and  breath.  What  a  foolish  Fairy  it  is,  and  half  the  girls 
going  would  give  their  ears  for  the  gay  life  you  have  ledl 


■^^ 


1G8 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWER. 


I 

1  ^ 


li    ' 


Why,  you  have  been  danced  over  the  world — you  hare  beei 
vrell  dressed,  well  fed^  well  educated.  What  more  would  yon 
havei'  And  now  I  bring  you  to  America,  where  1  will  send 
you  to  shine  in  the  highest  circles — where  I  mean  to  find  you 
a  iiandsome  young  husband — and  see  how  you  thank  me  for 
all  I  Ungrateful  Fairy!  But  your  father  forgives  you!  You 
have  been  reading  your  prayer-book,  poor  child,  or  your  cate- 
chism, and  you  believe  the  pretty  little  fables  they  tell  you, 
and  this  is  the  result.  To-morrow  you  will  be  yourself,  and — 
Meantime,  are  there  any  letters?" 

She  pointed  in  moody  silence  to  a  writing-case  on  the  table. 
The  captain  opened  it,  humming  a  gay  air,  and  took  out  hail' 
a  dozen. 

The  evening  had  darkened  down — the  wind  rose,  and  the 
rain  began  to  fall.  The  girl  looked  out  at  the  darkening  pros- 
pect with  dreary,  despairing  eyes. 

*'  Oh,  my  beautiful  Spain!"  she  said,  with  a  weary  sigh. 
**  Why  did  I  ever  leave  you  for  this  cold  land?*' 

She  heard  her  father  utter  a  sharp  exclamation,  but  she  did 
not  turn  to  look.  She  sat  as  if  changing  to  stone,  her  heart 
heavier  than  any  stone  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  am  going  out.  Fairy,"  her  father  said,  hurriedly.  *'  I 
may  not  be  back  until  kte.  Go  to  bed,  like  a  good  little 
Fairy,  and  sleep  off  your  vapors,  and  be  Captain  Dandin's 
clever  daughter  again  to-morrov'. " 

She  never  answered  him;  she  never  turned  round.  She  sat 
stiller  than  marble,  her  face  rigid  and  colorless  in  the  deepen- 
ing dusk.  The  door  closed  behind  him;  she  was  alone  once 
more;  but  she  did  not  stir. 

The  moments  passed,  the  hours  went  by,  but  the  captain's 
daughter  still  kept  her  lonely  vigil — moveless  as  though  she 
had  looked  at  Medusa,  and  were  turning  to  stcne. 

Meantime,  Captain  Dandin  hurried  up  Broadway  through 
the  rain.  He  stopped  at  the  corner  and  hailed  a  passing  om- 
nibus, leaped  in,  and  was  whirled  away. 

His  destination  was  a  boarding-house — far  west — a  quiet, 
respectable  place.  As  he  rang  the  door-bell,  the  August  night 
had  quite  shut  down,  and  the  rain  fell  heavily. 

*'  1  only  hope  I  may  find  them  in,"  muttered  the  captain. 
**  It  reminds  me,  my  faith!  of  that  other  Jnight,  eight  years 
ago,  when  I  first  visited  my  nice  little  boy  and  his  pretty 
mamma. " 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  servant-girl,  and  th«  oaptaim 
stepped  out  of  the  rain  into  the  hall^  r&olent  of  the  oaor  at 
perpetual  dinners  of  boiled  cabbage. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    GOWEB. 


167 


'*  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Lauriston  stop  here?''  the  captam 
asked.     **  Are  they  at  home?" 

"1  don't  know." 

"  Be  good  enough  to  ascertain  then,  my  dear.  If  either  of 
them  is  within,  give  him  or  her  this." 

**  This  **  was  the  captain's  card. 

The  girl  departed,  and  returned  presently. 

**  The  doctor's  out,  sir,  but  Mrs.  Lauriston 's  up  in  the  par* 
lor.     You're  to  walk  ri^ht  up." 

A  jerk  of  her  thumb  mdicated  the  locality  of  the  apartment 
Captain  Dandin  ran  nimbly  up  the  stairs,  and  into  the  gaslit 
boarding-house  parlor. 

A  lady  sitting  alone  rose  from  her  rocking-chair  and  ad** 
vanced  eagerly  to  meet  him. 

"  My  dear  Captain  Dandin!  how  kind  of  you  this  isl  But 
it  is  only  a  part  of  all  your  great  goodness.  You  received  my 
boy's  letter?" 

Captain  Dandin  lifted  the  hand  she  extended  gallantly  to 
his  lips. 

**  Not  half  an  honr  ago,  dear  madame,  and  flew  hither  at 
once.  And  we  meet  again,  after  eight  long  years!  Mon 
Dieu!  the  thought  is  transport!  And  looking  so  well — 
younger,  handsomer  than  ever!  Dear  lady,  Dandin  is  at  a 
loss  to  express  his  rapture  to-night!" 

Mrs.  Lauriston  smiled  quietly  at  her  visitor's  flighty,  foreign 
way.  She  would  hardly  have  tolerated  this  style  of  address 
from  any  one  else,  but  the  captain  was  an  exceptionable 
character,  and  then  she  owed  him  so  much. 

*'  Captain  Dandin  is  not  usually  at  a  loss  for  words  to  ex- 
press his  feelings,  rapturous  or  otherwise.  How  sorry  I  am 
Launcelot  is  not  at  home,  nor  likely  to  be  until  very  late!  and 
I  know  he  is  mos(.  anxious  to  see  you.  He  noticed  your  name 
among  the  arrivals,  and  wrote  to  the  customary  address  at 
once." 

**  And  by  so  doing  relieved  me  of  an  immense  load  of  anx- 
iety and  suspense.  Dear  lady,  how  unutterably  anxious  1 
have  been!  What's  your  Yankee  word  for  it — worried — 
fidget?  I  arrive  at  New  York;  1  fly  to  Silver  Shore;  I  find 
the  pretty  little  cottage  all  dark,  deserted,  forsaken — my 
interesting  friends  gone!  Mon  Dieu!  I  say  to  myself,  what 
is  it?  "What  does  it  mean?  Why  does  it  happen?  Where 
have  ihc'j  gODie,  and  without  telling  Dandin?  I  come  back  to 
New  York,  desolated,  inconsolable.  I  find  my  nice  boy's 
letter  awaiting  me.  1  hail  a  fiacre;  I  rush  here,  pell-mell* 
pear  lady,  teU  me — what  does  it  all  mean?" 


168 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


•*  It  means.  Captain  Dandin,  that  we  have  left  Silver  Shore 
forever!"  the  widow  replied,  gravely.  "  I  have  been  very 
happy  there — very  happy!  Happier,  perhaps,  than  I  will  ever 
be  elsewhere.  But  my  boy  wished  it,  and  his  will  is  my  law. 
He  is  very  unhappy,  my  poor  Launce!  The  scene  of  his  mis- 
ery had  become  hateful  to  him.  He  was  determined  to  go, 
and  I  was  equally  determined  he  should  not  ^o  alone.  He  is 
all  that  I  have  in  the  wide  world,  my  kind  friend.  Even  you 
can  not  blame  me." 

**  T?  Madame,  1  am  charmed!  It  is  beautiful,  it  is  divine 
— this  maternal  love!    But  who  is  she?" 

••  She?" 

Mrs.  Lauriston  stared. 

**  Ah,  dear  lady,  Dandin  is  an  old  man!  He  has  a  tall 
daughter  of  nineteen,  but  he  has  not  forgotten  his  youth. 
Once  I  was  young — once  I  was  handsome — once  1  was  in  love. 
Who  is  she?" 

**  Her  name  is  Eudora  Varneck.  You  are  quite  right,  cap- 
tain. My  poor  boy  has  fallen  madly,  infatuatedly  in  love.  Oh! 
why  did  that  girl  ever  come  to  Silver  Shore?  We  were  so  en- 
tirely happy  together — I  and  my  precious  son!" 

'*  And  will  m  again,  dear  madame.  Dandin  vows  it!  We 
won't  let  pretty  little  bread-and-butter  school-girls  stand  be- 
tween us  and  the  sun.  We  blow  them  out  of  our  way — pouf ! 
like  that.  She  is  Miss  Varneck,  of  Glen  Gower — a  little  baby- 
faced  heiress,  not  worthy  to  unclasp  the  latchet  of  our  boy's 
shoes.     Ma  foi  !  I  know  her  well.  '^ 

*'  You  know  her?" 

**  Well!  Better  than  well — from  ber  childhood,  from  her 
babyhood.  Good  enough — but  here,"  tapping  his  forehead — 
**  bah!  I  met  her  father  at  Silver  Shore — the  big  colonel. 
He  was  at  your  house,  looking  for  you  and  the  bourgeois  doc- 
tor who  had  saved  his  imbecile  heiress.  He  didn't  find  you — 
serve  him  right! — and  he  takes  his  little  heiress  away.  Bah! 
again  and  yet  again.  1  mock  myself  of  them.  They  are  im- 
becile—both!" 

The  intense  scorn  of  the  captain's  sallow  face  was  something 
indQjBcribable.  Mrs.  Lauriston  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
This  phase  of  his  flighty  character  was  something  altogether 
new  to  her. 

**  They  are  here,  in  New  York,  to-night.  To-morrow  they 
go  home.  They  Lave  invited  the  captain  and  his  daughter  to 
go — to  eat  their  bread  and  salt,  to  become  their  guests — and 
we  go.  My  daughter  would  like  it  Did  I  tell  you«  dear  lady^ 
my  daughter  was  here?" 


^ 


THE   HEIRESS   OF   GLEH   OOWBB. 


169 


'•"Ko;  and  yet  we  saw  her  arrival  duly  ohronicled  with 
yonrs.     Miss  DandiD  is  quite  well,  I  trust?" 

**  Entirely.  My  Fairy  is  always  well.  You  shall  knov  her, 
dear  lady.  You  will  love  her— she  will  love  you.  1  had 
hoped —    But  that  is  past.'* 

*'  What?" 

**  Ahl  why  speak  of  it?  And  yet,  why  not?  My  Fairy  ia 
handsome,  is  young,  is  amiable — will  be  rich.  1  say  to  my- 
self: *  My  nice  boy  at  Silver  Shore  is  a  tall  young  man  now- 
handsome,  too;  amiable,  likewise;  clever,  and  a  doctor.  One 
day  he  will  be  rich.  I  will  fetch  my  Fairy;  1  shall  present 
him.     And  then,  ma  foi  !  why  not — why  not  a  wedding?" 

The  captain  flourished  his  ten  fingers  with  a  finishing  wave 
that  made  Mrs.  Lauriston  laugh;  but  she  shook  her  head. 

**  You  are  very,  very  good;  but  it  may  never  be.  It  is  too 
late.     My  boy's  heart  is  gone." 

**  Bah  I  And  at  twenty?  Dear  lady,  my  heart  was  broken 
six,  seven — a  dozen  times,  at  that  age.  It  will  come  back. 
Hearts,  like  footballs,  are  caught  in  the  rebound.  Ah!  how 
it  would  be  charming — my  daughter  and  your  son  married! 
But  we  leave  New  York  to-morrow." 

'*  And  Launce  and  1  leave  within  the  week.  He  has  been 
fortunate  enough  to  find  a  promising  opening.  Doctor  Brith- 
wood,  of  Baltimore,  wants  an  assistant,  and  has  offered  the 
place  to  my  son.  He  has  accepted,  and  1  go  to  keep  house 
for  both." 

'*  The  very  thing!''  cried  the  captain.  **  Baltimore  ii 
within  easy  riding  distance  of  Glen  Gower.  How  it  falls  outl 
Does  your  son  know  he  goes  so  near  to  his  false  divinity?" 

**  I  think  not.  That  would  not  influence  him,  however, 
since  he  is  not  likely  to  meet  her.  Ah,  Captain  Dandin,  she 
is  a  cruel  coquette!  She  lured  my  boy  on  as  only  a  confirmed 
flirt  would  lure  him,  until  he  loved  her  madly,  and  then  she 
jilted  him  in  cold  blood.  It  was  wicked!  it  was  shameful!  I 
almost  hate  her  when  I  think  of  it!  I  warned  Launce.  But 
when  will  impetuous  youth  be  warned?" 

**  Never!"  said  the  captain  **  It  is  a  waste  of  breath,  and 
this  fleeting  madness  is  something  they  must  go  through  aa 
they  go  through  teething.  Once  settled  in  Baltimore,  we  will 
cure  him.  My  Fairy  shall  do  it.  Not  a  word  to  him,  mind, 
and  I  shall  not  say  a  word  to  her.  Let  Fate  work.  And  now, 
dear  lady,  it  grows  lata  I  am  forced  to  tear  myself  away.  1 
will  find  yon  as  soon  as  you  arrive  at  Baltimore.  Best  love  \m 
Xaancelot.    Dear  lady,  good-night." 


f> 


m. 


170 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


He  kissed  Mrs.  Lauriston's  slender  han^l  again  aric'  l(  we^i 
himself  out.     As  he  had  come,  so  he  was  gone — like  a  fl;\  i. 

The  rain  was  falling  heavily  when  the  captain  reach  -  the 
street,  but  he  hurried  along  through  it  all^  h'w  fare  1  ;^hted 
with  *  iumr^^an   exultation. 

**  'i  -•  T  .^  fl  Dandin's  victory  and  Dandin's  greatness  is  at 
ham"!!  h  i  ottered.  *'  The  hour  of  beautiful  Mrs.  Varneck 
and  tht  ^my  Eudora's  downfall  is  very  near.  Dandin's 
daughter  shall  t^m^  mistress  of  Glen  Gower  and  the  Varneck 
thousands  before  the  world  is  six  months  older.  And  they? 
Bah!  I'll  grind  them  like  snakes  in  the  dust  under  my  heelr' 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

EXTREMELY  MYSTERIOUS. 

In  the  golden  sunlight  of  a  hot  August  afternoon,  the  party 
from  New  York  reached  Glen  Gower — the  colonel  and  his 
daughter,  the  capti    i  and  his. 

The  carriage  met  theui  at  Baltimore,  and  they  whirled 
along,  through  a  cloud  of  dust,  rapidly  to  the  mansion. 

The  ponderous  entrance  gates  stood  wide,  and  they  rolled 
along  the  spacious  drive,  under  the  mighty  trees,  casting  long 
shadows  on  the  cool  greensward. 

Very  fair  and  stately  the  old  Maryland  manor  looked  in 
the  luminous  light  of  the  summer  sun,  with  its  spacious  ve- 
randas, where  the  climbing  roses  ran,  its  blooming  parterres, 
its  velvety  sweeps  of  sward,  its  cool,  shining  fish-ponds,  its 
statues,  gleaming  white  through  the  greenish  gloom  of  the 
shrubberies^  and  far  away  the  ceaseless,  shining  sea. 

Eudora  Varneck 's  bright  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  glad  light 
that  had  not  filled  them  since  she  had  lost  her  lover. 

*'  Is  it  not  beautiful?"  she  cried.  **  Look,  Valencia  I  My 
own  dear,  darling  home!" 

For  the  Spanish  beauty  and  the  little  Maryland  heiress  had 
grown  to  be  very  good  friends  during  their  southward  journey. 

Miss  Dandin  was  not  at  all  times  cased  in  that  repulsive 
armor  of  cold  steel  which  had  held  them  off  at  first;  she  could 
be  indescribably  sweet  and  gracious  when  she  chose.  And 
when  she  did  choose,  words  are  weak  to  tell  the  fascination  of 
thofse  eyes  of  liquid  splendor,  that  musical,  foreign-toned  voice, 
those  rare,  bright  smiles. 

She  had  that  fatal  siren  gift— the  gift  to  bewitch,  to  fasci- 
nate, at  will.  No  mortal  woman  of  the  **  earth,  earthy," 
much  less  man,  could  have  withstood  the  enchantment  of 


i 


y 


f 


THE    HEIRESS    ©P    GLEK    GOWBR. 


171 


I- 


r 


* 


that  di   ky,  Andalusian  faoe,  lighted  up  with  th  k>  wonderful 
eyes,  ctiat  brilliant  smile. 

And  little  Eudora  never  tried  to  withstand  it.  The  cap- 
tain's dark  daughter  held  her  the  veriest  slave  in  her  inthrall- 
ments  ere  the  first  day's  journey  was  done. 

Miss  i)a?i(lin  had  been  all  that  is  bright  and  bewitching;  she 
had  showered  her  radiant  smiles  and  glances  upon  the  pretty, 
fair-haired  heiress;  she  had  talked  in  that  low,  melodious 
voice  of  hers,  until,  spell-bou'^'i,  Eudora  was  as  desperately  in 
love  with  the  enchantress  ab  tnc    voman  can  be  with  another. 

*'  How  charming  you  a  '"!''  '6  cried,  rapturously,  once. 
**  I  never  knew  any  ons  x  lo^^td  so  dearly  in  such  a  little 
while.  If  I  were  a  man,  Jl*!'  Dandin,  1  would  be  madly  in 
love  with  you,  I  know. " 

Miss  Dandin  laughed,  -'^  a  little  of  the  bitterness  of  their 
first  meeting  dashed  that  silvery  laugh. 

**  Why  not,"  she  said — **  why  not  crown  ourselves  with 
roses  before  they  fade?  My  life  is  mapped  out  for  me;  I  am 
powerless  to  stir  hand  or  foot  to  help  myself.  Why  not  make 
the  best  of  my  bondage,  like  any  other  serf?  If  one  gets 
through  life  the  easier  for  smiling  and  looking  pretty,  why 
not  smile  and  look  pretty?  It  is  much  pleasanter,  after  allf 
than  eating  one's  heart  out  with  repining  and  frowns." 

Eudora  looked  puzzled. 

*'  1  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  simply. 

**  No,  I  dare  say  not.  There  is  a  little  fable  of  the  Spartan 
boy  and  the  fox.  You  have  read  it,  wa  mie,  have  you  not? 
He  hid  it  under  his  cloak,  and  it  gnawed  his  vitals,  and  some- 
times, in  spite  of  him,  the  head  of  the  monster  peeped  out 
Well,  that  is  my  case.  Don't  wear  that  puzzled,  wistful  face, 
little  one.  I  talk  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  I  suppose.  It  is 
part  of  my  German  education.     Only  I  am  glad  you  like  me." 

**  And  you,"  Eudora  asked,  earnestly,  **  you  will  try  and 
likft  poor  little  me  ever  so  slightly  in  return?  1  am  not  clever, 
I  know,  and  you  are;  but,  Indeed,  1  love  my  friends  dearly." 

Miss  Dandin  bent  over  and  kissed  the  pretty,  pleading  face. 

'*  it  is  no  such  hard  task,  m' amour.  It  is  very  easy  to  care 
for  you." 

**  And  you  will  let  me  call  you  Valencia?  I  like  that  best. 
Fairy  does  not  suit  you  at  all.  Regina,  or  Cleopatra,  or 
Semiramis,  seem  yours  by  regal  right ' 

**  Or  Aspasia,  or  Deilah,  or  Lucrezia,  or  any  other  name  by 
which  false  and  fatal  sirens  have  been  known.  Call  me  as 
you  please,  my  pet;  I  will  never  be  false  or  fatal  to  you." 

The  captain's  penniless  daughter  spoke  with  a  certain  air  of 


in 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


luperb  patronage  to  the  Varneuk  heiress,  which  was  natural 
and  habitual  to  her. 

She  was  so  regal  and  queenly  herself  that  she  could  not  help 
looking  down  a  little  on  this  timid,  soft-spoken,  blue-eyed 
girl  who  clung  to  her  so  fondly. 

Eudora  looked  mystified;  but  half  the  things  Miss  Dandin 
said,  in  her  reckless  way,  perplexed  the  innocent  school-girl. 

*'  It  is,  as  she  says,'*  Eudora  concluded,  **  her  foreign  edu- 
cation. She  has  grown  misty  and  metaphysical  in  Germany, 
and  doesn't  half  understand  herself." 

Miss  Dandin  told  Miss  Varneck  a  good  deal  of  her  past  life 
as  the  train  whirled  ulong  over  the  pleasant  summer  l»ud — 
of  her  life  in  Spain,  where  she  had  lived  from  her  earliest 
recollection  until  her  fourteenth  year;  of  bright  Valencia,  the 
**  Heaven  of  the  Moors;"  of  the  flowing  Mediterranean,  of  the 
orange  orchards,  of  the  gilded  domes  and  minarets,  of  the  lofty 
palm-trees,  and  the  lovely  Alameda. 

The  Spanish  eyes  lighted  into  flashing  splendor,  and  the  red 
blood  rose  to  the  dusky  cheeks  as  she  talked. 

'*  How  nice  it  must  be,"  the  American  heiress  said,  sym- 
pathetically.    *'  Were  you  born  there?" 

Miss  Dandin's  glowing  face  clouded  a  little. 

**  I  have  reason  to  think  not.  I  don't  know  where  I  was 
born.  It  is  one  of  papa's  secrets,  I  suppose.  But  I  am  a 
Valenciana,  heart  and  soul.  I  wish  I  had  died  before  I  ever 
left  it." 

**  How  long  since  you  left  it?"  Eudora  asked. 

**  Over  six  years.  1  was  a  tall  school-girl  of  fourteen  when 
papa  came  and  took  me  away.  Since  then  1  have  been  every- 
where. There  is  not  a  capital  of  Europe  1  do  not  know.  I 
hate  to  think  of  it — I  hate  to  look  back  upon  the  gypsy, 
Tagabond  sort  of  existence  that  has  been  mine.  Don't  ever 
let  us  talk  of  it  again.  In  Spain  I  was  happy,  and — yes, 
once,  in  a  different  way  from  that  innocent,  childish  bliss — I 
was  happy  at  Homburg.  But  that  is  all  past  and  done  with 
now." 

A  look  of  dark  gloom  overspread  her  face,  and  she  would 
talk  no  more. 

Eudora  Varneck  watched  her,  sitting  moodily  silent,  gazing 
ftt  the  flitting  landscape. 


her  sentimental 
What  a 


"  Has  she,   too,   loved  and  lost?"    was 
thought.     "  Is  the  trail  of  the  serpent  over  all? 
grand  and  kingly  creature  he  must  have  beenl" 

On  the  sunlit  afternoon  of    their  arrival,   the  captain's 
daughter  looked  curiously  at  the  massive  old  house — at  tho 


;»   '1 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    OOWEB. 


178 


doTsens  of  black  faces,  grinning  a  welcome — at  the  swelling 
meadows  and  sunlit  lawns.     It  was  all  so  new  to  her. 

'*  A  pretty  place,  is  it  not,  Miss  Dandin?"  the  colonel  said, 
smiling  fondly  at  his  daughter's  enthusiasm — ''  though  not 
such  an  Eden  as  you  have  been  used  to.  What  is  it  the 
record  says  about  your  native  town,  mv  fair  Valenciana? 
That  *  the  Moors  did  locate  their  Paradise  on  the  Valencian 
shore,  which  was  a  fragment  fallen  from  the  Paradise  in  the 
sky.'" 

**  Yonr  Glen  Gower  is  beautiful,"  Miss  Dandin  said,  quiet- 
ly.    "  You  can  hardly  wish  for  a  fairer  earthly  Eden." 

**  And  there  is  grandmamma  and  mamma  waiting  on  the 
Terandal"  cried  Eudora.     **  Oh,  papa,  hurry — hurry!** 

The  carriage  stopped.  Eudora  was  the  first  to  spring  out 
and  to  rush  impetuously  up  the  steps  and  fling  herself,  with 
rapturous  kisses^  into  the  arms  of  the  two  women  waiting 
there. 

*'  Mamma,  darling!  Oh,  grandma — grandmamma!  How 
glad  I  am  to  be  with  you  once  again!" 

**  Not  more  glad  than  we  to  have  you.  Stand  off  and  let 
us  look  at  you.  Why,  how  tall  and  now  pretty  the  child  has 
grown!" 

It  was  grandmamma  who  spoke;  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  had 
kissed  her  impetuous  daughter,  and  turned  to  look  for  one  far 
dearer — the  husband  of  her  idolatry. 

She  saw  him,  but  at  the  same  instant  she  saw  also  the 
noseless  captain — her  evil  genius — the  man  she  dreaded  most 
on  earth — the  man  she  feared  more  than  God  who  made  her. 

Her  eight  years  had  expired,  and  she  had  not  thought  of  it. 
Her  compact  with  this  earthly  Satan  was  at  an  end,  and  he 
held  her,  body  and  soul,  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  She  was 
utterly  and  beyond  mortal  aid  in  the  power  of  this  meroiless 
wretch. 

She  uttered  no  cry.  She  grasped  the  slender  pillar  by 
which  she  stood,  turning  whiter  than  the  dress  she  wore,  a 
look  of  unutterable  terror  dilating  the  great  eves.  She  never 
glanced  a  second  time  at  the  daughter  she  iiad  not  seen  for 
eight  years. 

**  Captain  Dandin!"  Mme.  Varneck  exclaimed,  sharply. 
**  That  ubiquitous  captain.  We  see  him  the  last  thing  at  our 
departure,  and  we  see  him  the  first  upon  our  return.  Where 
on  earth  did  your  papa  pick  him  up  this  time,  Eudora?  And 
who  is  that  extremely  handsome  girl  beside  him?" 

'*His  daughter,  grandmamma— his  *  Fairy,'  as  he  calls 
her;  and,  oh!  the  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest  creature  alive  1" 


x:4 


TUB    HEIRESS    OF    OLBN    OOWER. 


**  Of  course — achool-girl  rapturesl  You  are  bosom  friends 
—brothers  iu  arms — sworu  companions,  of  course.  Keally, 
she  is  beautifu],  and  stately  as  a  young  princess.  Look, 
Eleanor,  my  dear.  Your  old  friend  the  captain  and  his 
daughter.  How  came  such  a  very  ugly  man  to  poesess  such  a 
handsome  child?*' 

**  1  see  them,"  Rleanor  Varneck  answered,  mechunically. 

She  could  not  move;  she  hardly  seemed  to  breathe.  Sh« 
did  not  once  look  at  the  daughter.  Every  faculty  of  mind 
and  body  was  absorbed  in  gazing  at  her  deadly  foe. 

Colonel  Varneck  led  the  way,  embraced  his  wife  and  mother^ 
and  presented  his  guests. 

**  An  old  friend  and  a  new  one  claim  a  welcome,  mother — 
Eleanor — Captain  Dandin  and  his  daughter." 

**  All  friends,  old  and  new,  are  welcome  to  Glon  Gower,'* 
madame  said,  graciously.  ^*  Captain  Dandin,  I  am  happy  to 
meet  you  once  more.  Miss  Dandin,  1  bid  you  heartily  wel- 
come to  our  Maryland  home. ' ' 

Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  came  forward  and  held  out  her  hand. 
Not  once  had  her  glittering  eyes  left  the  captain's  face,  but 
the  florid  captain's  persistently  refused  to  meet  hers. 

He  bent  over  the  hand  she  extended,  pouring  out  his  ful- 
some compliments,  but  his  sinister  orbs  looked  everywhere  bat 
in  her  pallid  face. 

"'  So  glad!  so  happy  I  Dear  ladies,  it  makes  the  old  captain 
young  again  to  see  you  both  once  more  looking  so  fresn,  so 
youthful,  so  well,  so  happy.  And  our  beautiful  Glen  Gower 
— more  beautiful  than  ever.  Ah  I  how  this  is  bliss!  How  this 
is  heaven!" 

**  Where  is  your  lordly  guest,  mother  mine?"  asked  Colonel 
Varneck. 

**  Lounging  somewhere  among  the  trees,  smoking  his  end- 
less cigars.  I  never  saw  such  a  smoker.  Sleeps  with  his 
cheroots  in  his  mouth,  I  believe — at  least,  T  know  he  gets  up 
in  the  *  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the  night '  to  fumigate  my 
curtains.  It  has  been  dull  for  him  here,  I  am  afraid,  in  your 
absence,  Gilbert,  although  tortures  wouldn't  make  him  own 
it,  of  course.  Kun  away,  young  ladies,  to  your  rooms,  and 
dress  for  dinner.     Come,  I  will  play  conductress  myself." 

Mme.  Varneck,  brisk  as  ever,  led  the  way,  the  two  girls 
following.  Eudora's  old  apartments  were  in  readiness — ^Miss 
Dandin 's  room  was  somewhere  near. 

**  Your  luggage  will  come  up  directly,  and  I  will  send  a 
eonple  of  maids  to  help  you  dress,"  madame  said. 

*'None  for  me,  madame,"  interposed  Miss  Dandin. 


J' 


(( 


THE    HEIRR88    OF    OLEN    OOWER. 


175 


n 


am  uot  aooustomed  to  a  maid.     I  woald  only  find  her  in  my 
way. '  * 

'*  Ak  ^ou  please,  my  dear.  If  you  are  both  speedy  over 
your  toilets,  you  will  have  time  for  a  little  walk  before 
dinner. " 

''  And  if  you  finish  first,  Valencia,"  oalled  Eudora,  **  oome 
for  me. " 

The  trunks  came  up — the  young  ladies  shut  themselves  in 
their  rooms  to  dress. 

Miss  Dandin  did  finish  first,  and  tapped  at  Miss  Varnock's 
door,  looking  superbly  handsome  in  a  trailing  robe  of  bright 
silk — purple  in  too  shadow,  deep  red  in  the  light,  and  with  a 
blood-rod  rose  gleaming  in  hor  black  hair. 

"  Oomo  in,"  Eudora  said.  **  You  look  superb,  Valencia — 
like  a  queen  in  a  book,  or  like  a  Moorish  princess.  What  an 
insignilieant  little  object  I  am  beside  you,  to  be  sure!'* 

She  glanced  ruefully  at  her  own  image  in  the  glass.  And 
yet  she  was  looking  very  pretty,  too,  in  a  cloud  of  pink  areo- 
phane,  and  pearls  dangling  from  her  shell -like  ears. 

**  If  you  talk  like  that  1  shall  think  you  want  compli- 
ments," Valencia  said,  **  and  I  never  pay  compliments.  We 
both  look  well  enough,  I  dare  say.  If  you  are  dressed,  I 
should  like  to  take  that  walk  your  grandmother  spoke  of.  I 
should  like  to  go  down  to  the  sea  yonder,  and  try  to  fancy  it 
is  my  beloved  Mediterranean  once  more." 

"Come,  then." 

Eudora  seized  her  hat — Miss  Dandin  flung  over  her  head 
a  black  lace  mantilla,  in  which  she  looked  more  like  a  Moor- 
ish princess  than  ever. 

Seeing  them  both,  you  would  surely  have  taken  the  cap- 
tain's gorgeous  daughter  for  the  heiress— uot  the  fair-haired 
school-girl  beside  her. 

The  veranda  was  deserted.  Toe  colonel  and  the  captain 
were  in  their  rooms.  Mrs.  Varn<f,ok  had  follovf  d  her  husband  in 
her  devoted  way,  and  old  madr^me  was  sup  r  utending  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  dining-room. 

**  This  way,  dear,"  Eudora  eaid. 

She  passed  her  arm,  girl  fashion,  about  her  companion's 
waist  and  led  her  along  the  leafy  arcades  toward  the  shore. 

Half-way  down  the  woodland  aisle  they  saw  a  man  leaning 
against  a  tree,  looking  lazily  at  the  slow  wash  of  the  waves, 
and  smoking  a  cigar. 

**  It  is  grandmamma's  guest,"  whispered  Eudora,  stopping 
suddenly  and  coloring.     **  T  had  forgotten  him.     It  must  be  , 
Lord  Anntsley.' 


176 


THZ    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEK. 


**  Who?" 

Miss  Varneck  looked  at  her  companion  in  surpriie.  She 
had  spoken  the  word  in  a  sharp,  frightened  tone  she  had 
never  used  before. 

'*  Lord  Annesley,  an  English  nobleman^  and  a  distant  con- 
nection of  grandmamma.  Why,  Valencia,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter? You  are  as  white  as  death.  Surely  you  don't  know 
him?" 

There  was  no  reply.  The  deathly  pallor  that  overspread  the 
captain's  daughter  s  face  passed  as  quickly  as  it  came. 

She  Flood  for  a  moment  stock  still,  as  though  some  shock 
had  paralyzed  her.  Then  she  lifted  her  head,  her  eyes 
fiashed,  and  her  natural  hue  came  back. 

"  Let  us  proceed,"  she  said,  coldly.  **  We  need  not  stop 
for  this — stranger." 

**  You  surely  don't  know  him,  Valencia?" 

•*  I?"  she  laughed — a  ringing  laugh.  *'  Is  it  likely,  petite  f 
He  is  an  English  *  milor,'  and  1  am  Captain  Dandin's  daugh- 
ter. How  should  I  know  him?  Come  on;  he  may  not  even 
see  us." 

But  he  did  see  them.  He  turned  on  the  instant  and  be- 
held tne  two  figures-  -the  little  one  in  the  rosy  cloud,  the  tall 
one  in  the  flashing  silk. 

He  removed  his  cigar  and  looked  again,  just  a  trifle  more 
interest  in  his  lazy  eyes  than  when  he  had  looked  at  the  waves. 

**  The  heiress,  no  doubt,''  he  said — "  the  heiress,  at  last. 
But  which  is  the  heiress — the  pink  fairy  or  the  purple  prin- 
cess? Good  God!" — he  started  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  and 
the  cigar  dropped — "  Valencia  Dandin!" 

He  stood  there  'ike  a  man  petrified.  The  next  instant  the 
two  young  ladies  passed,  and  he  lifted  his  hat  and  made  them 
a  courtly  bow.  Mis,  Varneck,  blushing  brightly,  returned  it; 
but  he  Ecarcely  sa^v  >  er.  He  was  staring  with  all  his  eyes  at 
her  companion. 

The  black  eyes  of  the  bpj^nish  girl  turned  full  upon  him, 
with  the  cold  stare  of  an  utter  stranger.  She  bent  her  stately 
head  ever  so  slightly.  Then  they  were  past,  and  Lord  An- 
neeley  was  alone. 

**  You  know  him,  Valencia,"  Eudora  said^  quietly,  **  and 
he  knows  you.  Never  mind — I  am  not  going  to  ask  ques- 
tions." 

Miss  Dandin  made  no  reply.  Her  dark  face  had  turned 
stone  cold  and  rigid  as  marble.  Her  great  dark  eyes  looked 
•traight  before  her  at  the  red  light  on  the  sea. 


THB    HEIBESS    OF  OLBN    OOWER. 


177 


Eudora  leaned  heavily  against  her  shoulder  and  watched 
the  rosy  sunset  fade,  with  her  heart  in  her  eyes. 

The  clanging  of  a  great  bell  aroused  them.  They  had  been 
standing;  makitig  an  exquisite  tableau  of  tliemselveB,  fur  over 
half  an  hour.     Valencia  looked  up  and  away,  with  a  start. 

**  The  tocsin  of  the  soul — the  dinner-bell,"  she  said,  with 
a  forced  laugh.  '*  How  we  have  stood  dreaming  here!  Why, 
my  little  one,  how  pale  you  are,  and  bow  gravel  Tired  to 
death,  no  doubt;  and  I  keep  you  standing  mercilessly  here." 

EuJora  turned  to  go,  pale  as  a  lily,  indeed. 

*'  No,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  *'  not  tired.  It  is  the  sunset, 
1  think.  I  have  so  often  watched  the  waves,  with  that  very 
light  upon  them,  at  dear  old  Silver  Shore;  and  I  have  been 
thinking  of  the  days,  Valencia,  that  can  never  come  again.''' 


ff 


CHAPTER    VIIL 

MRS.    VARNECK'S  diamonds. 

The  .ong  beech  walk  was  entirely  deserted  when  the  two 
girls  went  back  to  the  house.  Neither  spoke  of  the  gentle- 
man they  had  encountered  there,  but  both  thought  of  him  as 
they  passed  the  giant  tree  against  which  he  had  leaned. 

**  Uan  he  be  the  man?"  Eudora  wondered.  **  He  is  hand- 
some, certainly,  though  not  in  the  least  the  magnificent  heinfi 
I  should  imagine  Valencia  Dandin  in  love  with.  Her  hero 
ought  to  be  Richard  the  Lion-hearted,  or  Robert  Bruce,  or 
Count  Lara,  or  Edgar  Ravenswood.  Lord  Annesley  is  what 
grandmamma  called  *  well-looking,'  but  he  is  no  more  to  be 
con]  pared  to  Launcelot  Lauriston  than  a  demi-god  is  to  an 
ordinary  mortal." 

And  tLon  Miss  Varneck  sighed  heavily  once  more,  and 
thought  what  a  poor,  broken-hearted  girl  ehe  was,  and  won- 
dered if  her  fair-naired  prince  ever  thought  of  her  at  all  now. 

Miss  Dandin's  face  wore  its  look  of  darkest  gloom  as  they 
sauntered  up  under  the  waving  trees. 

**  It  is  Fate,"  she  thought,  bitterly;  "and  what  is  a  poor 
wretch  like  1  am,  that  1  should  try  and  do  battle  with  Fate? 
1  had  thought  never  to  see  him  again.  I  had  hoped  to  forget 
the  sharpest  agony  of  my  life  in  this  far-off  land,  and  lol  his 
face  is  one  of  the  first  to  meet  me.  What  does  he  here,  1 
wonder?    Has  ha  come  to  marry  the  heiress?" 

They  found  the  whole  family  assembled  in  the  dining-room, 
Mme.  and  Mrs.  Varneck  elegantly  dressed,  the  colonel,  the 
captain,  and  the  tall  stronger  of  the  beech  wtAk  talking  i  i  a 


178 


THE   HEIRESS   OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


little  group — at  leasts  the  captain  was  doing  the  talking  ani- 
matedly for  the  three. 

**  Here  are  our  truants,"  said  madame.  **  We  were  about 
to  send  scouts  in  search  of  you.  Did  you  lose  yourselves  in 
the  woodland,  young  ladies?" 

**  Come  hither,  my  Fairy,"  cried  the  lively  captain,  **  and 
behold  an  old  friend.     Who  would  imagine  our  obliging  En- 

flish  acquaintance  at  Homburg  would  turn  up  the  first  day  in 
[aryland?" 

Valencia  bowed  low,  the  dark  lashes  sweeping  proudly  the 

Sale  cheeks.  But  she  did  not  utter  one  word;  she  did  not 
eign  to  glance  at  her  "  old  friend." 

**  Lord  Annesley,"  said  Mme.  Varneck,  in  her  stateliest 
manner,  **  permit  me  to  present  you  to  my  granddaughter. 
Miss  Varneck.  Eudora,  my  dear,  this  is  our  English  kins- 
man of  whom  you  have  heard  me  speak." 

Eudora  blushed  like  the  sunset  sky  without.  She  felt 
ashamed  even  to  look  Lord  Annesley  in  the  face,  with  the 
recollection  of  grandmamma's  letter  fresh  in  her  min  \. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  he  must  know  it,  too.  His  polite 
formula  sounded  only  like  an  unintelligible  murmur  in  her 
ears,  and  before  it  was  ended  they  were  taking  their  places 
at  table. 

Miss  Dandin's  seat  was  beside  Lord  Annesley,  and  Eudora 
watched  them  f  urtweiy  during  the  progress  of  the  dinner. 
Once  or  twice,  when  it  seemed  impossible  to  avoid  it,  he  ad- 
dressed her,  and  she  had  replied ;  but  the  words  of  both  were 
studiously  cool,  the  matner  of  both  constrained.  Only  Eu- 
dora noticed  it;  her  womi^n's  penetration  guessed  at  the  truth 
directly. 

The  English  lord  was  undoubtedly  handsome;  not  a  bit  like 
Miss  Varneck's  ideal  Englishmaii,  with  the  florid  face,  and 
check  pantaloons,  and  mutton-chop  whiskers.  Side- whiskers 
he  decidedly  v/ore,  but  they  were  brown  and  becoming,  and 
the  great  brown  eyes  that  looked  at  you  lazily  were  singularly 
soft  and  beautiful. 

He  had  brown  hair  and  a  pale  face,  with  a  certain  tired  look 
in  it,  as  though  uhe  world  and  all  things  therein  were  an  old 
story  to  him,  and  something  of  a  weary  one. 

He  looked  blase — in  a  word,  the  living  incarnation  of  the 
celebrated  doctrine,  **  There's  nothing  new  and  nothing  true, 
and  it  don't  signify. " 

**  I  would  like  him  ever  so  much— 1  know  1  would," 
thought  Eudora,  **  only  they  want  me  to  marry  \lm.    OK 


m 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWBR. 


179 


dear\  why  did  grandmamma  tell  me  that?  I'll  nerer  get 
along  with  him  now  in  the  world." 

During  dinner,  in  a  little  lull  in  the  talk^  Colonel  Varneck 
related  the  episode  of  his  daughter's  peril  on  Pirate's  Rock. 

**  You  are  quite  a  heroine.  Miss  Varneck,"  Lord  Annesley 
said,  in  his  slow  way — *'  a  modern  Grace  Darling,  with  the 
story  reversed.  The  hero  of  a  sensational  novel  could  not 
have  acquitted  himself  more  creditably,  unless  he  took  a 
*  header  after  you  in  the  boiling  surf.  By  all  tlie  rules 
romantic,  a  love-match  and  a  marriage  should  have  been  the 
result. " 

"Not  too  late  yet,  Annesley,  perhaps,"  laughed  her  fa- 
ther, **  only  the  hero  mysteriously  disappears.  1  go  in  search 
of  him,  and,  behold!  the  heroic  youth  has  fled,  with  '  his 
blushing  honors  thick  upon  him. ' ' 

"  How  does  he  call  himself?"  asked  grandma.  **  Really, 
gentlemen,  jesting  aside,  he  did  too  brave  a  deed  to  go  unre- 
warded." 

There  was  an  awkward  little  pause  after  this  simple  ques- 
tion. Colonel  Varneck  had  quite  forgotten  that  part  of  the 
business. 

**  His  name  is  Launcelot  Lauriston,"  he  replied,  slowly, 
after  that  pause. 

His  wife  and  mother  looked  up  sharply  and  suddenly. 

*'  Lauriston!  Launcelot  Lauriston!"  Mme.  Varneck  repeat- 
ed. *'Are  you  sure,  Gilbert?  That  is  a  name  one  doesn't 
often  hear,  and — what  is  he  like,  this  young  man?" 

*'  Ask  Eudora,"  said  her  son.     **  I  never  saw  him." 

*'  Like  papa,"  replied  Eudora,  whose  cheeks  were  the  hue 
of  peonies,  and  whose  eyes  never  left  her  plate.  "  His  very 
image — twenty  years  younger." 

There  was  a  second  pause,  this  time  of  blank  consternation. 
Even  Colonel  Varneck  stared  aghast. 

**  Who  are  his  parents?"  asked  madame,  sharply.  "  Who 
is  his  father?  Wno  knows?  I  am  a  Lauriston — I  may  find  a 
kinsman." 

*'  He  has  no  father,"  her  granddaughter  answered.  **  Mrs. 
Lauriston  is  a  widow,  or,  at  least,  I  have  been  given  to  un- 
derstand she  was  a  deserted  wife.  He — Doctor  LauristoB — 
told  me  once  his  father  had  left  America  before  he  was  born, 
find  had  never  returned  since." 

The  silence  of  death  fell.  Colonel  Varneck  broke  it  this 
time. 

''  What  was  his  father's  name?"  he  inquired,  in  an  altered 
voice. 


180 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    GOWEB. 


1 


*'  The  same  as  his  son's — Launcelot  Lauriston." 

Gilbert  Varneck  looked  across  the  table  at  his  wife.  Not 
in  any  suspicion  of  the  truth,  but  in  densest  dismay.  He  saw 
her  white — white  almost  to  ghastliness — but  he  thought  it 
only  the  emotion  excited  by  hearing  that  name. 

**  The  most  curious  thing  about  the  matter/'  pursued  Eu- 
dora,  gathering  courage,  **  is  that  Mrs.  Lauriston  is  the  living 
image  of  mamma.  More  like  her  even  than  Launcelot  is  like 
you,  papa.  1  never  saw  a  resemblance  so  striking  or  so  start- 
ling in  my  life.     They  might  be  twin  sisters." 

Mrs.  Varneck  uttered  a  gasping  cry.  For  the  first  time. 
Captain  Dandin  lifted  his  glittering  black  eyes  and  fixed  them 
full  on  her  face  with  the  look  of  a  triumphant  devil. 

'*  This  is  inexplicable!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Varneck,  sorely 
tjjpubled  and  mystified.  **  Dandin,  did  you  know  these  people? 
If  this  likeness  exists,  you  must  have  noticed  it. " 

**  Often,  my  colonel!"  cried  the  captain,  in  his  sprightliest 
tone.  **  And,  bah!  what  doey  it  signify?  Mrs.  Varneck  has 
dark  eyes  and  hair  and  regular  features;  Mrs.  Lauriston  is  the 
fortunate  possessor  of  the  same.  My  nice  boy  Launcelot  has 
blue  eyes,  rosy  cheeks  and  fair  hair;  so  had  you,  my  colonel, 
at  twenty  years  of  age.  So  have  hundreds  of  Saxons  and  Celts 
over  the  world.  Again  1  cry — what  does  it  signify?  Bah! 
nothing.  We  see  it  every  day;  not  so  marked,  perhaps,  but 
we  see  it.     I  snap  my  fingers  at  it.     It  is  no  marvel  at  all." 

**  We  see  chance  resemblances,"  said  Eudora,  boldly,  piqued 
at  the  tone,  *'  but  nothing  so  marked  as  this.  Even  Squire 
Rayfield  and  his  wife  were  struck  by  it  when  they  saw  papa. 
Mrs.  Rayfield  said  Launcelot  might  be  papa's  own  son!" 

It  was  a  most  unfortunate  speech.  Scarcely  was  it  uttered 
when  poor  Eudora 's  cheeks  took  fire,  and  blazed  redder  than 
the  rose  in  Miss  Dandin's  hair. 

*'  Let  us  hope  he  will  be  some  day,"  said  the  captain, 
slowly  and  manciously.  **  As  Lord  Annesley  remarks,  it 
would  be  a  fitting  end  of  a  pretty  story." 

Poor  Eudora!  If  the  floor  had  only  opened  to  swallow 
her!  Tyars  of  mortification  actually  rose  in  her  eyes,  but 
stately  grandma  came  haughtily  to  the  rescue. 

'*  Y  jur  jest  is  rather  marked.  Captain  Dandin,"  she  said, 
t'l  frigid  reproof.  "  Eudora,  my  dear,  don't  wear  that  dis- 
tressed face.     We  all  understood  you  perfectly." 

She  gave  the  mystic  signal  as  she  spoke,  and  thu  lauies  rose. 
Captain  Dandin,  not  a  whit  abashed,  sprung  up  and  held  the 
door  open  for  them  to  pass. 

'*  Ten  million  pardons!"  he  cried,  in  an  impetuous  whisper^ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


181 


to  Eadora.  **  1  shall  forgive  myself  never!  Dear  Misa  Var- 
lUBck^  try  to  pardon  the  stupid  old  captain  I" 

Eudora  bent  her  gentle  head  and  passed  by.  She  was  not 
angry;  she  was  only  hurt.  But  grandmamma  sailed  on  in 
queenly  displeasure,  and  into  the  drawing-room. 

The  grand  piano  stood  open.  Eudora  crossed  over  and 
swept  her  hands  over  the  keys. 

**  How  grand!  What  a  superb  instrument!  You  play, 
Valencia,  of  course?" 

**  Of  course,"  with  a  smile.  **  We  all  play  nowadays.  Lei 
me  hear  you." 

Miss  Varneck  seated  herself,  and  her  fingers  wandered  ofl 
into  **  Le  R^ve,"  that  pet  piece  of  school-girls. 

She  played  well — nothing  uncommonly  brilliant,  perhaps — 
but  **  The  Dream  "  had  been  one  of  Ids  favorites,  and  her 
hdart  went  into  her  fingers. 

Miss  Dandin  threw  herself  upon  a  crimson  velvet  sofa,  mak- 
ing a  vivid  picture  against  a  glowing  background,  and  list- 
ened, wjth  dreamy  eyes. 

Mrs.  Varneck  seated  herself  in  a  deej)  window  recess,  and 
looked  steadfastly  out  at  the  silvery  twilight  gr-ximed  with 
golden  stars. 

**  It  is  coming,"  she  thought,  with  a  heart  contracted  in 
unutterable  terror.  "  The  (loom  I  have  dreaded  is  closing 
around  me.  Oh,  my  God!  hat  will  become  of  me  vhen  he 
knows  all?" 

The  gentlemen  entered  hile  Eudora  still  played,  and  the 
silver  sickle  of  the  Augu  moon  was  sailing  up  iu  shining 
glory  over  the  sea. 

"  We  come  with  the  urise,"  exclaimed  Captain  Dandin, 
**  back  to  Paradise  am  lue  Peris.  Play  on,  Miss  Varneck. 
Your  music  and  this  delicious  twilight  ma^e  even  the  stupid 
old  captain  young  again.  What,  then,  must  be  the  efiect  on 
Lord  Annesley?" 

Lord  Annesley  looked  down  the  long  drawing-room  and 
took  in  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  dark  girl  in  the 
shadow,  her  shining  silk  obe  flashing  fitfully,  and  the  ^'Jry 
figure  with  the  amber  hair  at  the  piano,  with  all  the  moon- 
light on  the  sweet  young  face.  It  haunted  him  for  many  a 
day. 

"Ah!  she  will  go!"  the  captain  cried,  pathetically,  as 
Eudora  arose.  "  1  plead  in  vain!  1  never  Wore  thought 
you  could  be  merciless.  Miss  Varneck." 

I  want  Valencia  to  play,"  Miss  Varneck  said.     **  I  am 


«t 


182 


THE    HEIRB8S    OF    OLEK    OOWEB. 


ii   1 


1 


sure  she  plafs  far  better  than  I  do.    Persuade  her  oaptaim-** 
you,  my  lord/' 

*'  I  need  no  persuasions/'  Miss  Dandln  said,  rising  hastily. 
**  1  am  quite  ready.     What  shall  it  be?" 

'*  Whatever  you  please.     Your  own  favorite." 

**I  have  none." 

She  took  up  the  first  sheet  of  music  she  met,  placed  it  be- 
fore her,  and  began  at  once.  It  was  a  modern  fantasia,  brill- 
iant, meaningless,  and  she  played  it  well. 

*'  Bah!"  said  the  captain;  **  that  is  nothing.  Sing  for  us, 
my  Fairy." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

**  Not  this  evening.     I  don't  feel  inclined." 

**  You  sing?"  said  the  heiress.  **  But  1  might  have  known 
it.     How  much  I  should  like  to  hear  you!" 

**  She  sings  like — how  is  it  you  call  her? — the  beatified  lady 
in  the  pictures  with  the  harp,  and  the  yellow,  full  moon 
f.rouud  her  head.  Ah,  St.  Cecilia!  You  should  hear  her  sing 
our  Span'sh  romances  with  the  guitar.     You  have,  my  lord." 

"  And  should  very  much  like  to  again,"  Lord  Annof^ley 
said,  thus  appealed  tc;  **  but  it  were  presumption  in  me  to 
ask." 

Mi83  Dandin  scarcely  waited  to  hear  this  answer.  She 
dashed  off  into  a  very  pot-pourri  of  airs,  stormily  loud,  that 
effectually  drowned  the  discussion. 

**  When  a  woman  won't,  she  won't,"  remarked  the  cap- 
tain, with  one  of  his  shrugs.  **  My  willful  Fairy  won't  sing 
for  us  to-night. " 

He  glanced  across  as  he  spoke  into  the  window  recess. 
Colonel  Varneck  stood  there  now  by  his  wife's  side,  talking 
earnestly,  with  a  troubled  face. 

"  I  can't  understand  it  in  the  least,"  he  said,  in  densest 
perplexity.  **  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Eleanor— the  strange 
likeness  ihesw  people,  mother  and  son,  bear  to  you  and  me — • 
the  singular  coincidence  of  names  and  facts?" 

**  What  yoci  make  of  it  yourself — a  singular  coincidence," 
liis  wife  answered,  looking  out  at  the  misty  moonlight;  **  noth- 
ing more.  These  things  puzzle  the  wisest  of  us  every  day. 
Half  the  resemblance  is  imaginary,  no  doubt.'' 

**  Perhaps  so;  and  yet  " — he  paasod  and  knit  his  brows— 
**  I'll  find  this  Mrs.  Lauriston  and  her  son!"  he  exclaimed, 
with  sudden  encgy.  "I'll  see  for  myself.  It  can  be  no  such 
difficult  task  to  hunt  them  up." 

Eleanor  Varneck  made  no  renly;  she  sat  steadfastly  regard- 


n 

« 

1! 

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V 

h 

t 

I 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLIK    OOWBB. 


188 


be- 
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ff 


inK  the  starry  sky.  Praotical  Mme.  Varneck  rang  for  lights, 
joined  them  m  their  recess,  and  changed  the  conversation. 

Miss  Dandin  arose  from  the  piano  as  the  soft  lamp-light 
flooded  the  room,  and  madame's  voice  was  heard  calling  across: 

''  Come  here,  young  ladies.  You  two  should  be  interested 
in  this  matter.     Let  us  have  your  opinion.'' 

**  On  a  most  important  subject,  mosdemoiselles/'  said  her 
son.  **  Grandmamma  is  going  to  give  a  grand  ball,  and  in- 
vite half  Maryland." 

Eudora  uttered  a  little  cry  of  ecstasy.  She  was  broken- 
hearted, of  course,  but  she  could  eat,  drink — ay,  and  be  merry, 
too,  though  her  fair-haired  King  Olaf  was  lost  forever. 

It  sounds  heartless;  but  then  eighteen  is  such  a  very  elastio 
age,  and  a  first  ball  is  such  an  ecstatic  matter. 

'*  A  ball!  Oh,  grandmamma  I  And  I  never  was  at  a  ball 
in  all  my  life!" 

**  Of  course  not.  Tou  are  to  make  your  debut.  Misti  Var- 
neck, of  Glen  Gowei,  jiust  be  launched  into  society  sooner  or 
later.     Why  not  at  once?    The  question  is,  when  shall  it  be?" 

*'  Oh,  at  once,  grandmamma!  Isn't  it  delightful,  Valencia? 
But  then,  I  suppose,  it  will  be  no  novelty  to  you.  You  have 
been  at  balls  beiore." 

Perhaps  Miss  Dandin  did  not  hear;  she  certainly  did  not 
reply. 

Lord  Annesley  most  unexpectedly  answered  for  her. 

**  I  can  reply  for  Miss  Dandin,"  he  said,  in  his  slow,  train' 
ante  voice.  '  *  The  last  place  I  saw  her  was  as  the  belle  of  a 
brilliant  bah." 

Valencia  was  approaching  Eudora  as  he  spoke.  She  lifted 
her  dark  eyes  in  one  long  glance  of  passionate  reproach. 

**  You  do  well,"  she  said,  in  a  bitter  under-tone,  **  to  re- 
mind me  of  that— you,  of  all  men  alive!" 

Eudora  caught  both  the  words  and  the  glance.  The  next 
instant  Valencia  was  standing  by  her  side,  her  arms  encircling 
the  little  heiress. 

**  It  will  not  be  my  first  ball,"  she  said,  in  her  sofiest, 
sweetest  tone.  **  I  made  my  debut  very  early  in  life.  But  I 
have  no  doubt  1  shall  be  quite  as  charmed  with  this  as  you." 

'*  And,  Eleanor,"  madame  said,  turning  in  her  brisk  way 
to  her  daughter-in-law,  **you  must  wear  your  diamonds  that 
night.  They  have  lain  in  hiding  eight  yearn.  The  Varneck 
diamonds  must  light  up  grandmumma'n  ball." 

**  Diamonds!"  exclaimed  Eudora,  clapping  her  little  hands. 
**  How  grand  it  all  sounds!  Th«  V  arneck  diamonds,  too!  and 
I  know  as  little  of  diamonds  as  1  do  c^  balls.     I  have  a  faint, 


184 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


2 
I 


}( 


childish  reoolleotion  of  seeing  them  shine  in  untold  splendor 
on  mamma's  neck  and  arms  long  ago.  Where  are  they  hid?" 
*'  In  the  strong-room  of  a  banK,"  answered  madame. 
**  Papa  shall  ride  to  Baltimore  and  fetch  them  to-morrow,  and 
jctB.  will  have  your  bright  eyes  dazzled  once  again,  my  enthu- 
siastic little  girl." 

No  one  saw  the  face  of  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife— sitting  deep 
in  that  friendly  shadow — not  even  Captain  Dandin ;  but  he 
knew,  without  seeing,  the  chalky  pallor  that  blanched  it. 

It  was  very  pleasant  that  first  evening  in  the  long,  lamp-lit 
drawing-room  of  Glen  Gower.  They  had  their  own  secret 
troubles,  perhaps,  all  of  them — Eudora,  in  the  loss  of  her 
loTer;  Gilbert  V arneck,  in  his  haunting  perplexity  about  that 
queer  coincidence  of  names  and  facts;  his  wife,  in  her  deep, 
untold  terror;  and  Valencia  Dandin,  in  those  secret  troubles 
that  darkened  her  young  life. 

But,  outwardly,  all  was  sunshine  and  peace.  The  brilliant 
captain  was  at  his  best;  Lord  Annesley  devoted  himself  to  the 
heiress,  and  talked  better  than  any  man  that  young  lady  had 
ever  listened  to;  and  Miss  Dandin  went  back  to  the  piano  and 
played  soft,  dreamy  melodies  full  of  passionate  pain. 

Colonel  Varneck  rode  to  Baltimore  early  next  morning,  and 
returned  in  time  for  dinner.  He  went  straight  to  his  wife's 
dressing-room  and  laid  before  her  a  mahogany  box  strongly 
clasped  with  brass  and  doubly  locked. 

Madame  was  there,  and  Eudora  in  dinner-dress. 

**  The  Varneck  diamonds,  ladies,"  he  said.  **  Prepare  to 
be  dazzled,  my  unsophisticated  little  heiress." 

Again  that  chalky  pallor  crept  over  Eleanor  Varneck's  face, 
leaving  it  a  dull  leaden  white;  but  madame  and  her  grand- 
daughter were  altogether  too  much  absorbed  in  the  contents 
of  the  brass-bound  box  to  notice. 

**  The  key,  papa— the  key  I"  his  daughter  cried.  *'  Open, 
quick,  before  the  bell  rings!" 

**  1  keep  the  key,"  said  madame,  producing  it,  suspended 
by  a  black  ribbon  around  her  neck.  **  Do  you  think  I  would 
trust  any  one  so  careless  as  papa  with  the  key  of  the  family 
treasure?    1  have  worn  it  for  the  past  eight  years." 

She  tuiT  ^  the  key  sharply  and  threw  open  the  lid.  Inside 
the  maho,  '  box  was  a  richly  inlaid  casket  of  ebony  and 
•Told. 

adamt  couched  a  little  shining  spring,  i^^iid  the  top  of  the 
ca  iiet  flew  back.  There,  on  purple  velvet,  lay  the  Varnedc 
^iai&unds. 


4  , 
I 


THE    HEIBESS   OF    OLEK    60WER. 


18A 


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and 
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Endora  gave  a  girlieh  ory  of  admiration  at  the  flashing 
gtones  and  the  rich  setting. 

The  leaden  pallor  of  Elonnor  Vameck's  face  deepened,  and 
her  breath  came  thick  and  short;  but  madanio,  after  one  keen 
glance,  gave  a  spasmodic  start,  grasped  a  necklace  suddenly 
and  hold  it  up. 

**  Great  Heaven!"  she  cried;  **  what  does  this  mean?" 

**  What?"  Her  soTi  spoke  the  word,  striding  forward. 
**  What  is  wrong,  mot'ier?    The  jewels  are  there." 

She  dropped  the  necklace,  lifted  a  bracelet,  lifted  ear-rings 
and  finger-rings,  an'l  threw  all  back  with  a  shrill  cry. 

**  All  is  wrong!"  she  exclaimed,  wildly;  **  the  diamonds  are 
gone!" 

**  Gone  I"  Colonel  Varneck  stared  at  her  aghast.  **  What 
on  earth  do  you  moan,  mother?    The  diamonds  are  here.' ' 

*'  Those  things  " — she  lifted  them  up  and  flung  them,  in 
passionate  scorn,  upon  the  floor — **  those  worthless  pieces  of 
glass?  I  tell  you  tney  are  sham — paste  brilliants — miserable 
rubbish!  Eleanor  Varneck,"  with  a  second  shrill  cry,  **  where 
are  the  diamonds  I  gave  you?" 

But  Eleanor  Varneck  was  quite  incapable  of  reply.  She 
letned  heavily  against  the  dressing-table,  white  as  death. 

**  You  a.ro  frightening  my  wife,  mother,"  Gilbert  said; 
**  don't  be  so  vehement.    Eleanor,  my  dear,  can  you  explain?" 

**  No  " — she  forced  the  word  from  her  leaden  lips — "  only 
she  must  be  mistaken.     These  are  the  diamonds  she  gave 


me. 


ft 


'*  I  tell  you  they  are  not!"  madame  exclaimed,  passionately. 
**  Do  you  think  1  do  not  know?  They  are  imitation — a  clever 
imitation,  no  doubt;  but  they  can  not  deceive  me;  they  could 
not  for  a  second  deceive  any  experienced  jeweler.  The  dia- 
monds have  been  stolen,  and  these  paste  shams  substituted. 
But  how — how,  in  Heaven's  name,  has  it  been  done?" 

"  How  do  I  know?"  Mrs.  Varneck  said,  in  her  utter  despe- 
ration. *'  If  the  diamonds  have  been  stolen,  I  had  no  hand 
in  the  business.  The  diamonds  you  gave  me  1  placed  in  that 
box,  and  Gilbert  himself  took  it  to  the  bank.  It  has  been 
done  there." 

**  Nonsense!"    exclaimed   Colonel   Varneck,  energetically. 

What  you  placed  in  the  bank  you  have  received  back, 
Eleanor.  If  a  robbery  has  been  committed,  it  was  done  eighi 
years  ago,  before  we  left  Maryland." 

Mine,  Varneck  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  son's  wife  with  » 
look  of  unutterable  solemnity. 

Eleanor,"  she  said,  **  I  will  not  reproach  you  now  loi 


(( 


<{ 


186 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEK    OOWEB. 


I 


I 


your  CArelessneas,  since  you  are  likely  to  puy  suoh  a  terrible 
price  for  this  loss.  Perhaps  I  should  have  told  you  the  penalty 
attaching  to  the  loss  of  the^e  jewels  when  1  gave  them  to  you, 
but  I  roally  thought  no  one  would  bo  so  reprehonaibly  careless. 
Eleanor,  a  torrible  prediction  clings  to  these  diamonds — a  pre- 
diction that  was  once  fulfilled;  that  may  be — though  Heaven 
forefendl — fulfilled  again." 

**  Mother,  what  do  you  mean?'*  asked  her  son,  **  What  is 
the  prediction?*' 

**  That  the  woman  of  our  house  who  loses  these  diamonds 
shall  die  a  violent  and  tragic  death!  Once,  in  the  person  of 
their  possessor — my  paternal  grandmother — that  prediction 
was  fulfilled.  She  lost  them,  and  within  six  months  she  was 
burned  alive  in  her  own  home.  The  diamonds  wore  recovered; 
they  have  never  been  lost  or  mislaid  since — until  now.  May 
Heaven  have  mercy  and  avert  the  doom;  but,  Eleanor,  I  fear 
—I  fear—** 

A  cry  from  her  granddaughter  interrupted  her.  Eleanor 
Varneck,  listening  to  these  horrible  words,  and  wrought  up 
already  to  the  strongest  pitch  of  excitement,  had  swayed  back- 
ward,'tottered,  and,  without  word  or  cry,  fallen  senseless  on 
her  hu8band*s  breast 

There  was  one  listener  to  this  conversation  no  one  dreamed 
of.  The  dressing-room  windows  stood  wide  open  in  the  heat 
of  an  August  afternoon,  and  Captain  Dandin,  smoking  his 
cigar  beneath,  like  Love  among  the  roses,  had  heard  every 
word. 

At  the  sudden  confusion  attendant  upon  Mrs.  Varneck*8 
swoon,  he  threw  his  cigar  away  and  moved  oS  toward  the 
house,  with  a  diabolical  smile  making  uglier  his  ugly  face. 

'*  Madame  Varneck  knows  the  clever  shams  1  sent  from 
New  York,  then,**  he  thought.  **  I  wonder  if  she  will  recog- 
nize the  real  gema  as  readily?  You*re  a  wonderful  old  lady, 
my  imperious  dowager,  and  I'll  put  your  powers  to  the  test 
upon  the  night  of  the  ball.  As  for  your  family  prediction,  I 
think  it  is  extremely  likely  to  be  verified.  What  will  you  say, 
my  grand  dame,  when  you  see  the  Varneck  diamonds  ablaze 
on  Captain  Dandin*s  portionless  daughter?' 


)9» 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   DrA.MOND  BRACELET. 

Colonel  Varneck  stood  aion«  under  the  wa-ving  trees, 
leaning  against  a  hoary  oak,  smoking  and  looking  at  me  wide 
«M.     His  face  looked  darklv  thoughtful  under  tie  shadow  of 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWIB, 


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his  broad  hat,  and  his  brows  were  knit  in  nerplexity.  An  at* 
mosphere  of  mystery  and  saspicion  was  closing  around  him, 
and  ne  felt  half  stifled  already.  Vague  doubts  filled  him; 
8om«tiiing  wms  wrong  somewhere — where,  he  could  not  tell; 
he  wuH  even  afraid  to  ask. 

There  was  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress  behind  him.  He 
turned  round  and  saw  his  mother  approaching. 

**  1  have  been  searching  for  you  everywhere,  Gilbert,"  rhe 
said.  "  Eudora  told  me  1  would  find  you  here.  I  want  to 
spenk  to  you  about  this  miserable  business  of  the  diamonds." 

Her  face  looked  darker  even  than  her  son's;  but  there  wai 
a  resolute  fire  in  her  eyes,  a  determined  compression  of  her 
firm  mouth,  that  told  she  had  como  to  say  something  impor- 
tant, and  was  bent  on  saying  it. 

*'  Well?"  Gilbert  Varneck  said,  with  a  voice  of  hard  endur- 
ance. Some  inward  prescience  warned  him  of  the  unpleasant 
words  to  come. 

*'  Gilbert,  there  is  more  in  this  matter  than  meets  the  eye. 
At  the  risk  of  offending  you  seriously,  I  must  say  your  wife 
knows  more  than  she  is  willing  to  tell." 

**  I  knew  you  were  going  to  say  that,"  her  son  answered. 
**  You  mean,  mother,  Eleanor  has  stolen  her  own  diamonds." 

**  You  put  it  more  plainly  than  I  should  have  done.  But  1 
don't  quite  think  that,  either.  Your  wife  admired  those 
jewels  a  great  deal  too  much  to  part  with  them  lightly.  If 
she  has  made  away  with  them,  necessity  alone  compelled  her. " 

**  What  necessity?    She  had  all  the  money  she  wanted." 

*'  She  may  have  contracted  debts  during  the  years  ©f  your 
separation,  of  which  she  has  never  spoken  to  you.  One  thing 
IS  certain:  those  jewels  went  with  her  knowledge.  These  sub- 
stitutes were  ordered  by  her,  and  locked  in  that  box  with  her 
own  hands.  She  trusted  to  time  and  the  chapter  of  accidents, 
no  doubt,  to  conceal  the  deception;  but  she  trusted  in  vain. 
The  Varneck  diamonds  have  a  fate  attached  to  them,  and  will 
not  be  loEt  nor  made  away  with  with  impunity. " 

'*  What  nonBense,  mother!  You  don't  really  believe  that 
old  superstition?" 

**  I  really  do — as  implicitly  as  I  believe  you  are  my  own 
son.  It  was  verified  once — it  will  be  verified  again.  I  regret 
more  deeply  than  I  can  say  the  loss  of  our  family  heir-looms. 
I  regret  their  value— fully  twenty  thousand  pounds — but  I  re« 
gret,  most  of  all,  the  doom  your  wife  has  mcurred.  It  will 
fall,  Gilbert,  believe  aae." 

"  One  wo  Ud  think  you  almost  hoped  it  might,"  her  son 
SAidj  bitterly. 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


**  That  reproach,  at  least,  is  unmerited,"  Mme.  Varneck 
replied,  with  quiet  dignity.  *'  Since  the  woman  you  married 
first  entered  this  house  I  have  striven  in  every  way  to  treat 
her,  to  think  of  her,  to  love  her  as  my  own  daughter.  If  I 
have  failed,  the  fault  has  not  been  mine.'' 

"  You  have  failed,  then?" 

"  Gilbert,  1  can  not  like  your  wife — 1  can  not.  I  can  not 
even  trust  her.  The  truth  must  be  spoken,  even  at  the  risk  of 
displeasing  you.  She  hides  something  from  us  aJl;  there  are 
secrets  in  the  life  that  lies  behind  her  she  will  not  reveal. 
Something  is  wrong.  She  knew  Captain  Dandin  before  he 
ever  crossed  the  threshold  of  this  house. " 

Colonel  Varneck  started  violently. 

**  Impossible,  mother— utterly,  wildly  impossible!  Captain 
Pandin  came  direct  from  Spain  with  me;  he  had  not  been  in 
America  for  many  years  before.  It  is  the  wildest  impossibility 
that  they  could  ever  have  met  before." 

**  Then  why  is  there  a  secret  understanding  between  them? 
Why  does  she  blanch  at  the  sound  of  his  name,  at  his  entrance 
into  the  room?  Why  does  he  look  at  her  with  that  sinister, 
triumphant  light  in  his  eyes,  and  why  does  she  cower  and 
shrink  before  it?  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  the  matter — 
we  are  groping  blindly  in  the  dark — but  I  know  the  facts  are 
as  1  have  stated  them." 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  Deep  in  Gilbert  Varncck's  heart 
— so  deep  that  it  had  never  arisen  to  the  surface  before — 
lurked,  from  the  first,  doubt  and  distrust  of  his  wife.  The 
love  of  his  youth  seemed  to  have  burned  itself  out  into  dead 
ashes,  and  dead  ashes  are  terribly  hard  to  rekindle.  He  had 
striven  to  love  her;  but  the  love  that  is  forced  is  a  love  worth 
very  little.  And  now,  here  was  his  mother,  with  her  horrible 
doubts  and  suspicions — a  frightful  echo  of  his  own. 

**  I  have  thought  sometimes,  Gilbert,"  madame  said,  slowly, 
after  that  pause — **  a  wild  and  improbable  thought,  yet  which 
has  forced  itself  upon  me  again  and  again — can  you  have  made 
some  dreadful  mistake?  What  if,  after  all,  this  woman  is  not 
the  wife  of  your  youth?" 

Gilbert  Varneck  burst  into  a  loud  laugh — a  laugh  that  had 
very  little  of  mirth  in  it. 

**  My  dear  mother,"  he  said,  *'  you  did  well  to  tell  me  your 
fancy  was  wild  and  improbable.  I  should  never  have  given 
practical  Madame  Varneck  credit  for  such  a  flight  of  imagina- 
tion as  that.  Not  my  wife  I  Do  you  think  I  have  been  blind, 
and  in  &  dream,  for  the  past  eight  years?" 


.»■;'«. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWER. 


189 


•neck 

;rried 

treat 

If  I 


he 


And  yet,  eren  while  he  spoke  the  words,  a  new-born  terror 
clutched  his  heart  like  the  grip  of  an  iron  hand. 

If  the  woman  he  had  remarried  at  Glen  Gower  were  really 
the  wife  of  his  first  youth,  then  had  she  changed  as  surely 
never  woman  changed  before. 

"  1  have  read  of  such  things  being  done,"  madame  said, 
with  an  uneasy  feeling  of  shame  that  she  was  fanciful — "  twiu 
brothers  and  twin  sisters  passing  for  each  other.  Even  cousins 
sometimes  bear  the  strongest  family  resemblance.  And  re» 
member,  Gilbert,  you  had  not  seen  your  wife  for  ten  years." 

'*  Ten  years  could  not  make  me  forget  how  she  looked,  nor 
make  another  woman  grow  into  her  very  image.  Ten  years 
could  not  give  her  all  the  information  she  possessed  of  me  and 
my  previous  life.  And  then  the  marriage  certificate,  my  pict^* 
ure,  letters—  Oh,  mother,  mother!  this  last  is  the  maddest 
of  all  mad  ideas.'' 

There  was  a  second  pause.  Madame  passed  her  hand  over 
her  knitted  brow  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

**  Heaven  help  us!  It  is  the  blind  leading  the  blind  here. 
All  is  wrong,  and  yet  we  can  not  see  where  the  wrong  begins 
or  ends.  Gilbert,"  suddenly  and  sharply,  *'  how  strange  this 
story  is  about  Mrs.  Lauriston  and  her  son!" 

"'  Most  strange — most  remarkable;  and  yet,  no  doubt,  a 
mere  coincidence." 

"  But  so  many  coincidences:  The  name — an  uncommon 
name  in  itself,  and  which  one  does  not  hear  thrice  in  a  life* 
time;  the  fact  of  her  striking  resemblance  to  Eleanor — re- 
member Eudora's  words,  *  she  might  be  her  twin  sister;'  the 
young  man  Launcelot  Lauriston's  remarkable  likeness  to  you; 
the  desertion  of  Mrs.  Jjauriston's  husband  the  first  year  of 
their  marriage,  twenty  years  ago.  Gilbert,  there  is  something 
more  than  mere  coincidence  here." 

**  Mother,  for  pity's  sake,  stop!  My  head  is  in  a  whirll 
What  in  Heaven's  name  do  you  mean?  That  this  Mrs.  Lauris- 
ton is  my  wife,  and  not  Eleanor?  That  Launcelot  Lauriston 
is  my  son,  and  Eudora  is —    What  is  Eudora?" 

**  Ah,  if  1  only  knew!  I  dare  not  say  that,  Gilbert;  but  I 
do  say  that,  in  your  place,  I  would  never  rest  until  1  found 
Mrs.  Lauriston  and  her  son,  and  saw  and  heard  their  history 
for  myself." 

**  Well,  that  at  least  is  something  tangible.     I  can  do  that 

But  nothing  will  come  of  it,  depend  upon  it.     Remember, 

Captain  Dandin  knows  them,  and  see  how  lightly  he  treats  it." 

*  That  for  Captain  Dandin!"  exclaimed  madame,  snapping 

her  fingers.     **  1  wouldn't  trust  your  noseless  friend  as  far  aa 


Wi 

m 


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190 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


I  could  flee  him.  His  treating  the  matter  with  such  elaborate 
indifference  is,  to  my  mind,  a  suspicious  fact  of  itself.  And  if 
you  recollect  at  dinner,  while  Eudora  spoke,  your  wife  almost 
fainted,  Gilbert.'* 

Yes,  he  remembered  perfectly  the  ghastly  pallor  that  over- 
spread her  face,  the  affrighted  light  in  her  eyes. 

**  Mother,  yon  are  enongh  to  drive  a  maa  mad!"  he  burst 
out,  in  ungovernable  excitement.  **  For  God's  sake,  let  me 
alone!  One  would  think  we  hated  Eleanor,  and  were  trying 
with  all  our  might  to  prove  her  the  guiltiest,  most  abandoned 
wretch  alive!  My  wife  has  no  sister;  she  never  had.  Eleanor 
is  my  wife;  Eudora  is  my  daughter;  all  our  talk  is  crazy  im- 
probability, fit  only  for  the  plot  of  a  sensation  novel.  Let  me 
alone!  I  will  not  believe  she  is  the  vile  creature  you  make  her 
out.  I  won't  believe  it!  She  knows  nothing  of  Dandin;  she 
never  did;  there  is  no  secret  understanding.  She  is  as  igno- 
rant as  you  or  I  of  the  stolen  jewels,  and  we  deserve  to  be  flayed 
alive  for  harboring  such  base  suspicions.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
mother,  but  1  can't  help  being  vehement.  Kemember,  she  is 
my  wife." 

*'  1  forget  nothing,"  madame  answered,  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger.  '*  Your  outburst  of  feeling  is  quite  natural, 
my  dear  boy.  It  does  you  credit.  At  the  same  time,  as  a 
favor  to  me,  seek  out  this  widow  and  her  son." 

**  That  is  easily  done.  1  will  set  about  it  at  once.  That  is 
not  reason  to  anybody.  1  owe  the  young  man  a  heavy  debt  for 
twice  saving  my  daughter's  life.  I  promise  you  this,  mother. 
Acd  now  leave  me  alone  for  a  little.  Like  worthy  John 
Bunyan,  '  I  am  tumbled  up  and  down,  and  grievously  tossed 
about  in  my  mind.'  I  want  a  long,  solitary  smoke  to  restore 
my  mental  equilibrium." 

Mme.  Varneck  turned  slowly  and  went  back  to  the  house. 
She  had  established,  almost  unconsciously,  a  system  of  espion- 
age upon  the  daughter-in-law  she  distrusted  and  the  guest  she 
disliked. 

But  nothing  ever  came  of  it.  There  were  no  clandestine 
meetings,  no  private  interviews.  Mrs.  Gilbert  shunned  the 
noseless  captain  only  too  palpably;  and  he,  on  his  part, 
showed  no  desire  to  hasten  matters  to  a  crisis. 

There  was  one  other  surveillant  at  Glen  Gower — Miss  Var- 
neck— and  the  persons  she  watched  were  Lord  Annesley  and 
Miss  Dandin.  She  had  woven  the  prettiest  little  romance  for 
these  two  people. 

There  had  been  '*  love  passages  "  between  them  in  the  past, 
she  felt  certain,  and  with  the  instinct  of  the  sex  for  match- 


THE    HEIKESS    OF    GLBN    OOWER. 


191 


making  she  thonghfc  how  delightful  it  would  be  to  smooth  the 
turbid  course  of  true  love,  and  bring  them  together  once  more. 

She  didn't  want  him  herself,  so  she  could  afford  to  be 
magnanimous;  her  heart  was  broken  to  atoms,  but  that  was 
no  reason  why  she  should  not  bind  up  the  bleeding  hearts  ol 
others. 

*'  She  never  would  avoid  him  so  persistently,  or  look  at  him 
in  the  strange  way  she  does,  or  speak  to  him  with  such  studied 
coldness  and  hauteur,  if  she  did  not  love  him,"  argued  the 
romantic  little  heiress;  "  and  I  don't  see  how  he  can  help 
being  in  love  with  her,  for  she  is  the  most  beautiful  and  be- 
witching creature  the  sun  shines  on.  1  dare  say  it  is  because 
she  is  poor,  and  Lord  Clarence  Annesley,  though  next  heir 
to  an  earldom,  is  rich  in  nothing  hut  a  lofty  name  and  a  long 
pedigree.  As  if  such  things  mattered,  especially  to  an  Ameri- 
can girl  like  me.  I'm  surprised  at  grandmamma.  Oh,  if 
Lauiicelot  would  only  forgive  me  and  come  back,  even  she 
would  own  ho  is  good  enough,  and  noble  enough,  and  hand* 
some  enough,  for  a  prince." 

But  al!  the  dipLomatic  maneuvers  of  the  little  heiress  were 
in  vain.  The  crooked  things  would  not  straighten,  and  peo- 
ple would  persist  in  making  themselves  miserable  in  spite  of 
her.  Miss  Dandin  and  Lord  Annesley  would  not  come  to  an 
understanding,  do  what  she  would.  They  were  elaborately 
civil  to  each  other,  but  let  the  captain's  daughter  be  in  ever 
so  bright  and  genial  a  mood,  the  entrance  of  the  stately  En- 
glishman was  like  the  entrance  of  a  blast  of  Arctic  wind — it 
froze  her  into  an  iceberg  at  once.  She  avoided  him — in  no 
marked  or  palpable  way,  but  she  avoided  him  steadily  and 
effectually,  and  donned  her  armor  of  steel  the  moment  he 
came  in  sight. 

*'  Does  Lord  Annesley  see  it,  I  wonder?"  puzzled  Eudora 
thought,  sometimes.  **  If  he  loves  her,  if  he  ever  loved  her, 
how  can  he  bear  such  freezing  coldness  and  repulsion?" 

And  then  the  image  of  her  blue-eyed  demi-god  arose  before 
her — vehement,  impetuous,  passionate  Launcelot  Ah!  how 
differently  he  would  act  from  this  cold-blooded,  lymphatic 
young  lordling — how  imperiously  he  would  storm  and  rave, 
and  break  down  all  barriers,  and  know  his  fate  at  once  I 

*'  It's  the  blue  blood  showing,  I  suppose,"  Miss  Vameck 
mused.  *'  It's  aristocratic,  and  high-bred,  and  patrician,  and 
all  that,  this  uplifted  indifference;  but  if  I  were  Valencia,  I 
wouldn't  endure  it.  And  then,  in  his  way,  he  makes  love  to 
me." 

Which  was  quite  true— in  his  way;  a  very  lazy  and  Graad 


HI 


m 


T4 


192 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


i!    I 


Mogul  sort  of  way,  no  doubt,  but  still  according  to  his  light. 
He  made  love  to  the  pretty  heiress  of  Glen  Gower  in  a  languid 
and  lordly  manner  that  rather  awed  that  little  damsel.  He 
was  her  constant  cavalier,  riding,  walking,  sailing;  he  read  to 
her  on  rainy  afternoons,  and,  oh!  how  that  musical  legato 
voice  could  read  Tennyson  and  Owen  Meredith!  It  made 
even  Eudora  half  in  love  with  him.  He  hold  her  silks,  and 
turned  her  music,  and  gave  her  flowers,  and  talked  to  her  by 
the  hour,  and  ignored  Miss  Valencia  Dandin,  in  his  own  lordly 
way,  utterly  and  completely.  And  Miss  Dandin  listened  and 
looked  on  with  a  proud,  calm  face  that  never  changed  in  its 
matchless  composure. 

**  I  can  never  reconcile  these  two,  and  it  will  end  in  his 
making  me  like  him,  whether  I  will  or  not,"  Eudora  thought, 
ruefully.  "  He  is  without  exception — yes,  without  exception 
—the  most  agreeable  gentleman  1  ever  met,  and  his  manner 
of  reading  '  Locksley  Hall '  is  perfectly  irresistible.  I  shall 
never  forget  Launcelot,  of  course;  but  if  Yalencin  won't  make 
up,  and  if  Lord  Annesley  asks  me,  and  if  grandmamma  in- 
sists, what  am  I  to  do?  Til  speak  to  Valencia  myself,  and  see 
what  effect  that  will  have." 

Miss  Varneck  kept  her  word.  She  sought  out  Miss  Dan- 
din, and  found  her  sitting  alone  in  her  room,  looking  out  at 
the  misty  twilight.  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  this  young  lady 
that  you  never  found  her  reading  or  working — always  sitting 
with  those  listless,  folded  hands.  The  great,  dark  e3'es  looked 
straight  now  at  the  gray  horizon  line,  and  at  the  pale  glimmer 
of  a  faint  new  moon.  It  was  very  near  the  close  of  August, 
and  it  was  also  the  eve  of  grandmamma's  ball. 

**  All  alone,  you  solemn  Valencia!"  Eudora  said,  **  weav- 
ing sentimental  fancies  in  the  twilight.  The  house  is  as  still 
as  a  tomb.  Mamma  is  in  her  room;  papa  and  Lord  Annesley 
are  smoking  under  the  trees;  Captain  Dandin  has  been  gone 
all  day  to  Baltimore,  and  Valencia  turns  recluse,  and  gazes 
solitary  and  alone  at  the  rising  moon.  Even  the  workmen 
have  departed,  and  the  servants  are  off  to  a  banjo  breakdown. 
Poor  little  Eudora  is  left  to  wander  about  like  a  disconsolate, 
forsaken  ghost. " 

I  Miss  Dandin  smiled — that  rare,  bright  smile  that  lighted 
top  her  dusky  face  so  beautifully.  She  was  very  fond  of  the 
gentle  little  heiress,  in  her  superb  way. 

**  Eudora  is  very  rarely  left  to  make  that  complaint,  I 
ihink.     I  fancied  you  had  gone  for  a  walk." 

**  With  his  lordship?  Ob,  yes;  but  we  returned  ages  ago. 
He  is  too  lazy  to  walk  far — is  Lord  Annesley.     By  the  way. 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    QLIN    GOWER. 


19a 


W' 


what  a  sly-boots  you  are,  Valencia!  You  never  told  me  you 
uied  to  know  him." 

She  looked  up  eagerly,  but  the  face  of  the  captain's  daugh- 
ter was  masked  in  changeless  calm. 

**  Did  I  not?  It  would  be  a  more  difficult  task  than  I  should 
undertake  to  keep  you  mi  c^urant  of  all  my  gentleman  ac- 
quaintances, my  pet.  How  was  I  to  know  ?  would  meet  one 
of  them  in  this  strange  land?*' 

"  But  when  you  did  meet  him — the  first  evening  in  the 
beech  walk — even  then,  Valencia,  you  did  not  tell." 

*'  No;  but,  then,  I  am  an  oddity.  And  what  did  it  mat- 
ter? If  you  are  so  curious,  my  dear,  it  is  not  too  late  yet.  I 
met  Lord  Annesley  two  years  ago,  at  Homburg.  We  saw  a 
good  deal  of  each  other — at  the  tuUe  d'hote,  at  the  Kursaal, 
on  the  public  promenades,  everywhere.  We  met  last  at  a 
ball — you  heard  him  allude  to  it.  Papa  and  I  left  Homburg 
next  day.  1  never  saw  him  since  until  I  met  him,  face  to 
face,  a  fortnight  ago,  out  yonder  under  the  trees.  I  confess 
I  was  surprised — I  would  as  soon  have  expected  to  see  the 
pope  smoking  a  cigar  in  Maryland.  There,  my  dear,  you 
have  the  whole  history.     1  hope  you  are  satisfied. " 

**  And  that  is  all?"  Eudora  said,  slowly. 

'*  What  more  would  you  have?  1  know  a  hundred  English" 
men— met  in  the  same  manner — any  one  of  whom  I  would  be 
equally  surprised  to  meet  again  here." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  twilight  had  deepened,  the  new 
moon  sailed  up  crystal  clear,  the  stars  swung  over  the  tree- 
tops,  and  the  faint  sound  of  gay  music  came  floating  from  the 
negro  quarters. 

"  Well,"  Eudora  said,  at  last,  nestling  closer  to  her  friend, 
**  1  am  very  silly,  then,  after  all.  1  did  think —  But  1  don't 
like  to  say  what  1  thought.  You  are  so  proud,  my  queenly 
Valencia,  and  I  might  offend  without  meaning  it." 

Miss  Dandin's  black  eyes  turned  full  upon  the  speaker. 
She  was  very  pale,  but  that  might  be  the  effect  of  the  spectral 
twilight. 

*'  1  don't  think  you  could  offend  me  if  you  tried,  my  little 
Endora;  but  if  you  have  any  doubt,  better  leave  your  thought 
unsaid.  It  is  always  safeet.  See,  there  is  papa  riding  back 
from  the  city.  1  wonder  what  business  takes  him  there  so 
often?" 

Miss  Varneck  wondered,  too,  and  thought  no  more  about  it. 
If  she  had  known  that  it  was  to  hunt  up  her  recusant  lover, 
she  would  probably  have  felt  considerably  more  interest  in  the 

matter. 

1 


'1 


i  ■ 


194 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


;     I 


i\  !• 


',1  . 


Launcelot  Lauriaton  and  his  mother  had  not  yet  arriyed  in 
Baltimore,  but  were  expected  every  day;  so  old  Dr.  Brith- 
wood  told  the  captain. 

'*  I  will  mention  your  name  to  Doctor  Lauriston,  and  he 
will  drop  you  a  line  as  soon  as  he  arrives,"  the  old  physician 
said.     '*  He  will  surely  be  here  to-morrow." 

Capjiiin  Dandin  concluded  to  wait  for  the  line,  and  not 
ride  back  to  the  city  on  the  morrow.  Grandma's  bull  came 
off  that  night,  and  he  would  need  all  his  energies,  unfatiguod, 
to  be  duly  brilliant  upon  the  occasion. 

The  day  was  lovely;  the  evening  warm,  but  delightful. 
All  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  old  mansion  were  thrown 
wide  upen;  festoons  of  colored  lamps  turned  the  grounds  into 
fairy-land,  and  lights,  and  flowers,  and  evergreens  made 
rooms  and  stair- ways  splendid. 

The  billiard-room  was  waxed  and  decorated,  and  fitted  up 
for  dancing,  and  the  musicians  were  coming  from  Bftltimore. 

It  was  not  altogether  true  that  *'  half  Maryland  was  in- 
vited," but  certainly  the  number  of  guests  bidden  was  great. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  and  the  first  roll  of  carriages  be- 
gan to  be  heard,  Valencia  Dandin  stood  before  the  mirror, 
putting  the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet. 

Brilliantly  handsome  she  looked — stately  and  beautiful  as  a 
young  queen.  Her  robe  of  dark -blue  silk  swept  the  carpet  in 
shining  folds,  out  of  which  her  shoulders  gleamed  like  ivory. 
Brunette  as  she  was,  the  brilliant  mazarine  blue  became  her 
wonderfully — the  creamy-tinted  skin  shone  against  it  daz- 
zlingly.  A  cluster  of  rich  white  roses  gleamed  in  the  purplish 
blackness  of  her  hair,  and  were  the  sole  ornaments  she  wore. 

As  she  stood  there  alone  there  came  a  soft  rap  at  the  door. 
She  crossed  over  and  opened  it,  and  saw  her  father. 

"Dressed,  my  Fairy?"  he  said;  **  and,  as  usual,  looking 
beautiful.  How  the  wax-doll  heiress  will  be  eclipsed  to-night! 
May  papa  come  in?" 

**  Come  in." 

She  held  the  door  open  and  admitted  him,  then  stood  look- 
ing in  calm  inquiry. 

**  Blue  silk  and  white  roses!  Nothing  could  be  in  better 
taste — nothing  more  exquisitely  becoming.  But  1  have 
brought  my  Fairy  a  present  beautiful  as  herself.     Behold!" 

He  held  in  his  hand  a  tiny  parcel.  He  tore  off  the  wrapper 
as  he  spoke,  and  displayed,  in  the  lamp-light,  a  diamond 
bracelet. 

*'  Voila,  my  Fairy!  See  it  gleam — se©  it  flash.  Is  it  not 
luperb?    Will  it  not  shine  gorgeously  on  this  fair  arm?    Is  it 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWBR, 


19&. 


Arrived  in 
Brith- 

|n,  and  he 

physician 

I,  and  not 
|bull  camo 
ifatiguod, 

[ehghtful. 
fe  thrown 
unds  into 
^ns  made 

fitted  up 
?Altimore. 
was  in- 
'8  great. 
iiiges  be- 
6  mirror, 

tif  ul  as  a 
carpet  in 
ke  ivory. 
3ame  her 
'  it  daz- 
purplish 
e  wore, 
he  door. 

looking 
o-night! 


)d  look- 
bettor 
i    haYQ 
>Id!" 
Tapper 
amond 

it  not 
Is  it 


not  a  fitting  gift  for  a  princess?   Hold  out  your  arm,  my  peer-'* 
less;  thy  devoted  father  himself  will  clasp  it  on.'* 

But  Valencia  Dandin  drew  suddenly  back.  It  was  all  the 
captain  said  of  it — beautiful,  superb.  It  flashed  in  the  light 
of  the  lamps  with  dazzling  radiance,  but  the  captain's  daugh- 
ter was  not  dazzled.  She  drew  back,  with  a  set,  unsmilmg 
face. 

*'  You  are  very  good,"  she  spoke,  calmly,  almost  coldly. 
*'  But,  no;  diamonds  and  Valencia  Dandin  were  never  made 
for  each  other.  Your  bracelet  is  beautiful,  but — 1  can  not 
wear  it.*' 

"  And  why  not,  my  Fairy?*' 

He  asked  the  question  without  one  sign  of  anger  or  mortifi- 
cation in  face  or  voice. 

"  I  have  told  you  Captain  Dandin 's  portionless  daughter 
can  not  wear  diamonds.  1  will  remain  as  I  am.  Who  cares 
what  I  wear?" 

'*I  do,  my  Fairy.  And  you  shall  blaze  in  diamonds  yet* 
Take  the  bracelet. " 

"No." 

"  1  am  your  father,  my  Fairy — 1  command  you  to  take  it/* 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Father,  you  are  a  poor  man— how  do  you  come  to  possess 
diamond  bracelets?" 

'*  A-h!  now  we  get  at  the  heart  of  the  matter.  1  thought 
we  would.     My  Fairy  fears  I  have  stolen  it.     Is  that  it?" 

"  How  do  you  come  to  possess  it?"  she  repeated,  steadily. 

'*  Shall  I  tell  you?  Yes,  I  will — the  time  has  come  for 
that.  Fear  nothing,  my  Fairy — wear  your  bracelet  in  peace 
— your  father  was  never  a  thief.  Eight  years  ago  that  brace- 
let was  given  to  me  by — your  mother." 

"  My  mother?"  She  caught  her  breath  with  a  gasp. 
**  Father — father!  are  you  speaking  the  truth?'^ 

'*  Can  my  Fairy  doubt  it?  *  Ah!  how  keener  than  a  ser- 
pent's  tooth  ii  is  to  have  a  thankless  child!'  1  speak  the  truths 
my  Fairy— this  bracelet  was  your  mother's.  Your  mother 
gave  it  to  me  with  her  own  hands.  *' 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  a  wild,  eager  light  in  her  eyes 

"  You  promised  me  once,  father,  that  I  should  see  my 
mother.     Is  she  still  alive?" 

**  Alive  and  well,  and  you  shall  see  her.  Before  the  au- 
tumn winds  blow,  my  Fairy  and  her  mother  shall  stand  face 
to  face." 

Then  she  is  here?"  breathlessly — "  in  America?" 

In  America,  beyond  a  doubt.     Wear  your  bracelet,  my 


i 


u\ 


, 


II 

J*  I 


l!     ' 


it 


I 


i 


J 


196 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


own.  If  any  one  asks  you  where  you  got  it,  te]l  them  it  was 
your  mother's,  atid  that  you  wear  it  for  Jier  sake.'* 

lie  took  the  firm,  white  arm  as  he  ppoke  and  clasped  the 
bracelet  securely.  She  stood  still  aa  a  statue  and  watehed 
him.  When  ho  finished  he  kissed  the  olive  cheek  with  the 
brifrhtest  smile. 

"  The  heiress  of  all  the  Varnecks  will  wear  nothing  half  so 
splendid  to-night.  The  captain's  daughter  will  outshine  in 
splendor  as  in  beauty  the  namby-pamby  heiress  of  Glen 
Gower. " 

He  left  the  room  with  these  words,  his  sinister  smile  at  its 
brightest,  the  gleam  of  his  eye  bright  with  triumphant  malice. 

And  Valencia  still  stood  like  a  statue  where  he  had  left  her, 
gazing  on  her  mother's  bracelet. 


CHAPTER  X. 
grandmamma's  ball. 

The  heiress  and  the  captain's  daughter  descended  together. 
Looking  like  some  fairy  sprite,  in  misty  white  crdpe  and  point 
lace,  pearls  clasping  back  the  tinseled  ringlets,  pearls  glim- 
mering in  cloudy  luster  on  the  lovely  neck,  Eudora  Varneok 
floated  into  her  friend's  room. 

At  sight  of  the  gorgeous  Valencia,  she  paused  in  the  door- 
way with  a  little  feminine  cry. 

'*  How  beautiful  you  look!  how  well  blue  becomes  you! 
Valencia,  I  think  everything  becomes  you.  You  are  perfectly 
radiant  to-night.  And,  oh!" — Miss  Varneok  caught  her 
breath  with  a  second  thrilling  cry — *'  oh,  Valencia,  what  a 
magnificent  bracelet!" 

**  Yes,"  Valencia  said,  *'  it  is  magnificent.  Papa  came 
here  just  now  and  insisted  upon  my  wearing  it." 

"Insisted?  As  if  it  needed  that!  Real  diamonds,  too, 
Valencia.  See  how  they  blaze  in  the  light.  Miss  Dandin, 
you  will  be  the  best-dressed  lady  at  the  ball." 

'*  Will  1?"  She  sighed  wearily  as  she  spoke.  '*  What  does 
it  matter,  petite  9  The  wise  man  was  right — it  is  all  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit,  after  all.     Let  us  go  down. " 

'*  Tell  me  first  how  I  look?" 

•*  As  you  always  doj,  my  little  one — sweet  and  fresh  as  a 
rosebud.     Come." 

The  two  girls  descended  together.  It  was  still  early,  and 
but  few  guests  had  arrived. 

Grandmamma,  rustling  in  satin  and  old  point  yellow  with 


•V. 


THE    HEIUESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


197 


age,  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Varneck 
were  making  thomselvuB  agreeable  to  those  early  arrivals. 

Mrs.  Varneck  chose  to  wear  black  velvet  to-night,  and  her 
handsome  face  shone  marble  white  against  its  darkness.  The 
diamonds  that  had  come  from  the  bankers  did  not  light  up,  on 
her  fair  person,  Mme.  Varnock's  ball. 

Captain  Dandiu  had  not  yet  left  his  room.  Lord  Annesley 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Grandmamma  stood  alone  at  the 
instant  the  youn^  ladies  entered.  She  looked  down  the  long 
vista  of  lights  and  flowers — at  the  tuii,  blue  figure  and  the  tiny 
white  one — and  a  frown  darkened  her  face. 

**  That  girl  ia  superbly  handsome,"  she  thought.  **  My 
poor  little  granddaughter  is  nowhere  beside  her.  It  is  a  little 
too  bad  that  Captain  Dandin's  daughter  will  not  permit  the 
heiress  of  Glen  Gower  to  be  the  belle  of  her  own  ball." 

There  was  no  trace  of  the  ungracious  thought,  however,  in 
the  smiling  fac^  she  turned  to  the  two  girls. 

*'  You  are  looking  charming — both — your  very  beat,  as  I 
told  you  to  look.  Eudora,  you  should  never  wear  anything 
but  white;  and  you.  Miss  Dandin,  seem  more  like  a  prmcess 
in  a  fairy-tale  than  an  every-day  mortal.  1  pity  our  young 
men  already;  they  can  not  all  win  you,  and  all  are  sure  to  be 
bewitched.     Why — " 

She  stopped  suddenly.  Her  eyes  had  fallen  for  the  first 
time  upon  the  diamond  bracelet. 

**  Valencia's  bracelet,  grandmamma.  1  knew  you  would 
admire  it — you  who  are  such  a  judge  of  diamonds.  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  more  superb?*' 

Mme.  Varneck  had  gjrown  very  pale,  and  the  welcoming 
smile  faded  from  her  face.  She  took  Miss  Dandin 's  wrist  in 
her  hand,  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  the  shining  orna- 
ment. 


t( 


I  will  take  it  off  if  you  wish  to  examine  it,"  the  captain's 
daughter  said,  quietly.  *'  It  is  very  handsome,  certainly,  and 
very  valuable,  1  dare  say." 

She  unclasped  it  as  she  spoke  and  handed  it  to  madame. 

The  old  lady's  fingers  trembled  as  she  took  it. 

*'  Have  you  had  this  bracelet  long?"  she  asked,  her  voice 
trembling  as  well. 

'*  1  never  saw  it  before  to-night.  Papa  came  into  my  room 
just  now  and  gave  it  to  me." 

'*'  Did  he  purchase  it  for  the  occasion?  It  is  an  exquisite 
present." 

No,"  Miss  Dandin  said,  **  1  fancy  not     In  fact,  he  told 


«( 


^h 


i 


't 


\\ 


V  . 


198 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWBR. 


me  ho  has  had  it  for  tho  past  eight  years.  Tt — it  belonged  to 
my  mother.  *' 

**  To  your  mother?"  madamo  spoke  sharply  and  suddenly, 
always  her  wont  when  excited — '*  to  your  mother,  did  he  say? 
And  he  has  had  it  for  the  past  eight  years?  Look  here.  Miss 
Dandin  " — she  pressed  a  spring  in  the  back,  and  a  tiny  golden 
door  flew  open — '*  did  your  father  show  you  this?" 

There  \,a3  a  portrait  inside  the  bra(5elet — tho  smallojifc  of 
miniatures,  perfectly  done.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  woman's 
face,  and  beneath  were  tho  wedded  initials,  "  L.  L.  L." 

**  Laura  Letitia  Lauriston!'*  madame  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
literally  flashing.  **  Did  your  father  show  you  this.  Miss 
Dandin?" 

Miss  Dandin  looked  at  the  speaker  in  ungovernable  surprise, 
not  unmixed  with  a  kind  of  terror.  What  did  it  mean?  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  angry  surprise  and  excitement  in  ma- 
dame's  face. 

"  Why,  grandmamma,"  Eudora  said,  *'  how  do  you  come 
to  know  all  this?  Have  you  ever  seen  Captain  Dandin 's 
bracelet  before?" 

**  Captain  Dandin's  bracelet?"  maclame  repeated,  in  un- 
controllable scorn;  then,  suddenly  wheeling  round,  she  called: 
'*  Eleanor,  pray  come  here  one  moment." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  sailed  over,  her  black  velvet  robes 
sweeping  the  carpet. 

*'  I  wish  to  show  you  something  singularly  handsome," 
grandmamma  said,  fixing  her  eyes  with  an  eagle  glance  on  her 
son's  wife —literally  an  eagle  glance,  sidelong,  piercing — 
**  Miss  Dandin's  bracelet,  presented  to  her  by  her  father  to- 
night. It  has  been  in  his  possession  for  the  past  eight  years. 
Before  that  time  it  was  the  property  of  Miss  Dandin's  mother. 
I  wish  you  to  tell  me  if  you  ever  saw  anything  like  it  before. 
Look  here. " 

She  flashed  the  bracelet  full  in  the  dazzled  eyes  of  Gilbert 
Varneck 's  wife,  keeping  her  own  piercingly  riveted  on  her 
face. 

"  Look!"  she  cried.  **  See  this  portrait  in  the  back.  Even 
Miss  Dandin  did  not  know  of  this.  See  those  intwined  initials, 
*  L.  L.  L.,'  underneath,  encircled  by  the  nettle  wreath.  Tell 
me,  Eleanor,  did  you  ever  see  this  bracelet  before?" 

But  Eleanor  Varneck  did  not  reply.  That  livid,  chalky 
pallor  crept  over  her  face,  showing  through  the  powder  she 
wore.  Her  eyes  dilated  in  horror  as  intense  as  though  the 
bracelet  were  a  live  cobra  coiled  for  the  fatal  spring.  She 
stood  there  rooted,  transfixed  with  mortal  fear. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


199 


**  1  am  answered,"  mjitlumo  said,  icily.  She  closed  the 
spring,  and  lifted  Valencia's  arm.  **  Let  mo  reclusp  your 
bracelet,  Miss  Dandin.  It  is  very  beautiful,  and  Mrs.  Var- 
nock  admires  it  quite  as  much  as  1  do.  Eleanor,  perhaps  you 
had  better  return  to  Judge  Danvers.'* 

Mechanically,  without  a  word,  Eleanor  Varneck  moved 
away.  A  fresh  influx  of  guests  appeuriii^^  at  the  same  in- 
stant, madame  went  forward  to  receive  them,  and  the  two 
girld  were  left  alone. 

'*  How  stranjije!"  Sudora  said;  *' how  (jueerly  grandma 
looked  and  spoke  and  acted!  And  mamma!  Where  on  jarth 
can  they  have  seen  your  bracelet  before?" 

*' How  can  I  tell?**  Valencia  replied,  slowly.  "It  is  an- 
other of  my  father's  oecrets,  very  likely.  You  and  I  are  pup- 
pets in  the  handb  of  our  elders.  We  must  let  them  dance  us  as 
they  please.     There  is  your  father  calling  you,  Eutlcra — go.'' 

Kudora  flitted  away.  Hanging  upon  papa's  arm,  she  re- 
ceived the  guests  presented  with  timid  grace,  looking  like  a 
very  rosebud,  as  Valencia  had  called  her.  As  for  Valencia, 
she  wandered  away  into  the  conservatory,  and  stood  looking, 
with  a  darkly  brooding  face,  at  the  August  moon  sailing  up 
the  starlit  sky.  / 

**  What  can  it  mean — what  can  it  mean?"  a  voice  in  tier 
brain  seemed  beating  out  the  words  as  with  a  hammer. 
**  What  mystery  is  this?  How  did  papa  obtain  this  diamond 
bracelet,  and  why  did  he  insist  so  strongly  upon  my  wearing 
it  to-night?  Does  it  belong  to  Madame  Varneck?  How 
should  she  know  of  the  secret  spring,  the  miniature,  and  the 
initials,  else?  And  Mrs.  Gilbert  V^arneck — why  should  she 
grow  as  white  as  a  dead  woman  at  sight  of  it?  Did  it  really 
belong  to  my  mother — that  mysterious  mother  I  have  never 
known?  Oh,  me!  what  a  miserable  labyrinth  of  mystery  and 
aecrecy  and  darkness  I  grope  in!" 

She  leaned,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  against  a  marble  column,  the 
moon  rays  flashing  back  from  the  glittering  jewels  on  her 
arm.  At  the  moment,  a  step  behind  her  made  her  start  and 
look  around.  Lord  Annesley  stood  in  the  door-way,  a  cigar 
between  his  fingers,  the  tired  look  more  palpable  than  ever 
on  his  face — grandmamma's  ball  was  boring  him  already. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  catching  sight  of  the  girlish 
figure  in  shimmering  silk.  *'  I  fancied  the  conservatory  was 
deserted  at  this  early  hour,  and  came  hither  for  a  stolen 
smoke.  Pray  do  not  let  me  disturb  you.  I  will —  Is  it  poB* 
Bible?    Miss  Dandin  I" 


'I 


in 


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>  » 


200 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


He  caii^ht  sight  of  her  face  for  the  first  time,  and  started 
eagerly  forward,  his  brown  eyes  lighting  up. 

**  1  had  no  idea  it  was  you.  1  thought  you  had  not  come 
down.  Pray,  pray.  Miss  Dandin,  do  not  let  me  drive  you 
away." 

**  You  do  not,"  she  said,  coldly,  turning  to  go.  **  I  was 
about  to  return  to  the  drawing-room.  Lord  Annesley  is  free 
to  smoke  in  peace — J  have  lingered  here  too  long.  *' 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  bitterly,  **  too  long,  since  I  have  found 
you.  If  I  were  plague-stricken.  Miss  Dandin,  you  could 
hardly  avoid  me  more  persistently." 

She  made  no  reply;  she  moved,  in  cold  silence,  to  the  door. 

**  Is  it  your  Spanish  blood,  Miss  Dandin,  makes  you  such  a 
bitter,  implacable  foe?  Is  my  error  of  the  past  beyond  all 
forgiveness — beyond  all  atonement?  Are  the  w,<rd8  I  spoke 
at  Homburg  to  make  you  hate  me  forever?" 

**  I  hate  no  one.     Allow  me  to  pass,  my  lord." 

"  No,"  he  said,  setting  his  teeth;  **  not  one  step,  Valencia 
Dandin,  until  you  hear  me!  Since  the  hour  we  first  met  in 
this  house  you  have  given  me  no  opportunity  of  setting  my- 
6elf  right — of  repairing  my  error.     Now  you  shall  listen." 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  stood  looking 
him  full  in  the  face  with  eyes  that  outfiashed  her  diamonds. 

**  Your  error?  You  put  it  mUdly,  my  lord.  Your  error  is 
beyond  reparation.  I  told  you  that  night,  two  years  ago,  and 
I  tell  you  now,  I  will  never  forgive  you — never!" 

He  broke  into  a  bitter  laugh. 

**  You  are  right,  since  my  sin  is  the  same.  I  told  you  that 
night  I  loved  you.  I  tell  you  to-night  the  same.  1  love  you, 
Valencia  Dandin,  with  my  whole  heart;  and  scorn  me  as  you 
will,  you  love  me,  and  you  know  it. "       . 

She  grew  ghastly  white;  her  hand  clinched  convulsively. 
She  almost  gasped  in  her  passion. 

"  You  coward — you  mean,  mean,  mean  coward!  Oh!  if  I 
only  had  a  pistol  to  lay  this  wretch  dead  at  my  feet!" 

"  Valencia!"  His  voice  changed  to  one  of  unutterable  love; 
he  made  a  step  toward  her.  "  Hear  me!  You  madden  me 
with  your  beauty;  you  are  the  most  glorious  creature  my  eyes 
ever  saw.  How  can  I  help  loving  you — adoring  you?  Va- 
lencia what  is  all  the  world  compared  with  you?  1  will  resign 
the  world  for  your  sake.  Forget  the  past — pardon  my  mad- 
ness— and  be  my  wife!" 

**  Your  wife!"  She  repeatec!.  the  words  with  unutterable 
scorn.  "  This  is  madness,  surely.  You  will  come  to  your 
senses  to-morrow,   my  lord,  and  laugh  at  your  folly.      At 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


201 


Homburg  I  was  low  enough  to  be  told  you  loved  me,  but  not 
high  enough  to  be  made  your  wife.  Captain  Dandin's  daiigh- 
ter  should  have  thought  herself  honored,  no  doubt,  by  your 
lordly  love;  but,  unfortunately,  she  has  peculiar  notions  on 
these  points,  and  was  absurd  enough  to  consider  the  avowal 
an  insult.  I  had  led  a  vagabondish  sort  of  life,  no  doubt,  and 
the  gaming-tables  of  Homburg  were  hardly  the  places  to  look 
for  the  future  Lady  Annesley;  but  no  man  alive  had  ever  in- 
sulted me  in  that  manner  before.  1  scorned  you  and  your 
love  then.  I  spurn  you  and  your  offer  now.  You  came  to 
America  to  woo  and  win  an  heiress.  "Woo  and  win  her.  She 
is  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  you;  but  she  will  have  my 
best  wishes  for  her  happiness  on  her  wedding-day.  You  I  will 
never  forgive.  1  love  you,  do  1?  You  do  well  to  taunt  me 
with  that.  You  could  hardly  take  a  surer  means  to  make 
me  hate  you.  I  would  tear  my  heart  out  if  I  thought  there 
was  one  spark  of  love  in  it  for  so  cowardly  a  dastara  as  you! 
Let  me  pass,  my  lord.  If  you  detain  me  here  another 
second,  I  will  never  speak  one  word  to  you  as  long  as  1  live  I" 

She  was  white  as  death,  her  eyes  blazing  with  fury.  He, 
scarcely  less  white,  stood  aside,  and  she  swept  past  him  as  an 
insulted  and  outraged  empress  might  pass  th:  veriest  slave 
that  crouched  at  her  chariot  wheels. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  an  hour,  and  Lord  Annesley  lingered 
in  the  conservatory.  He  stood,  leaning  where  she  had  leaned, 
gazing  out  at  the  placid  beauty  of  the  night.  His  face  had 
resumed  its  calm;  only  an  added  pallor  told  of  the  storm  that 
had  passed. 

"  She  is  right,"  he  said,  between  his  set  teeth,  **  and  I  will 
take  her  at  her  word.  I  came  to  woo  and  win  an  heiress, 
and  the  heiress  shall  be  wooed  to-night,  and  won,  if  I  hav« 
the  power  to  win  her.  Let  my  mad  dream  go.  The  cap- 
tain's daughter  gave  me  my  coup  de  conge  to-night,  if  ever 
woman  gave  it. " 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  quitted  the  conservatory.  The 
ball  was  at  its  height;  dancing  was  going  on  right  and  left. 

At  the  head  of  one  quadrille  he  saw  Miss  Dandin  with  a- 
young  Marylander,  listening  smilingly  to  what  he  was  saying, 
He  looked  away  again  directly,  and  saw  Miss  Varneck,  just 
sinking  into  a  seat,  flushed  and  fatigued. 

'*  Now  is  my  time,''  he  thought — **  now  or  never — a  bold 
stroke  for  an  heiress!" 

He  crossed  to  where  she  sat,  and  bent  above  her.  Eudora 
received  him  with  her  brightest  smile. 

'  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been,  my  lord?    And  in 


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202 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


such  demand 
ivory  tablets. 


as  you  are,  too!  Look!"  She  held  up  her 
"  Three  days  ago  you  asked  me  for  the  first 
waltz/' 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  it;  but,  as  its  turn  has  not  yet 
arrived,  and  as  you  look  warm,  permit  me  to  lead  you  out  on 
the  veranda  for  a  few  moments,  ^ou  need  no  wrap;  the 
night  is  delightful." 

She  arose  at  once  ana  took  his  arm,  no  suspicion  of  the 
truth  dawning  upon  her. 

They  passed  out  on  the  veranda,  and  stood  there  under  the 
light  ei.  the  white  August  moon. 

*'  How  lovely  it  is!  So  still,  so  bright!  Who  would  ex- 
change this  for  the  glare  of  the  ball-room?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is  lovely."  He  was  looking  at  the 
fresh,  innocent,  youthful  face  as  he  spoke.  **  I,  for  one, 
could  stay  here  forever." 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  look  up.  The  look  in  his 
face  could  not  be  mistaken.  The  girl's  heart  gave  one  great 
bound,  then  seemed  to  stand  still. 

"  Miss  Varneck,"  he  said,  slowly,  steadily,  *'  before  I  ever 
came  here  I  heard  of  you.  What  I  heard  made  me  wish  to 
see  you.  I  came.  I  found  they  had  not  done  you  the  poorest 
justice — you  were  lovelier  than  my  most  sanguine  dreams. 
Eudora,  1  admire  and  esteem  you  with  all  my  heart.  Will 
you  do  me  the  honor  to  become  my  wife?" 

Coldly,  formally,  stiffly  the  words  came.  Oh,  Lauucelot! 
Her  heart  went  back  with  a  bound  to  the  old-fashioned  gar- 
den, far  away,  where  she  had  first  heard  passionate  words  of 
love.     How  different  that  love-making  w»is  from  this! 

"  It  will  be  the  aim  of  my  life  to  make  you  happy,"  he 
said,  "  and  in  the  future  the  coronet  of  a  countess  shall  grace 
this  fair  brow.  Tell  me,  Eudora,"  he  bent  above  her  until 
his  dark  hair  swept  her  cheek,  *'  tell  me  I  may  hope." 

Siie  did  not  reply.  She  hid  her  glowing  face  in  both  hands 
And  turned  away. 

**  Am  I  to  take  this  for  an  answer?"  he  said,  gently,  in 
that  deep,  melodious  voice  of  his.  '*  Has  my  little  Eudora  no 
place  in  her  heart  for  me?" 

"Mylcrd!  my  lord!"  she  said,  with  something  that  was 
almost  a  sob,  *'  I  never  thought — I  never  dreamed —  Oh,  I 
don't  know  what  to  say!" 

**  Let  me  give  you  time,"  still  bending  over  her  almost 
fondly.  **  1  don't  want  to  hurry  or  distress  my  dear  little 
girl.  I  will  wait  until  to-morrow,  and  my  little  cousiu  will 
tell  me  then." 


M{ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEE. 


203 


"Yes,"  she  said,  catching  eagerly  at  the  reprieve,  **  wait 
until  to-morrow.  1 — I  don't  want  to  be  ungracious,  my  lord, 
but  this  is  so—so  sudden." 

**  Shall  I  take  you  back  to  the  ball-room?"  he  asked,  after 
a  little  pause. 

Rh  heart  had  not  quickened  its  beating  one  throb,  but  hers 
was  plunging  tumultuously  under  her  crdpe  and  pearls. 

"Yes — no.  Do  you  return,  Lord  Annesley,  and  I  will  re- 
main here  a  few  moments.     No  one  will  miss  me.    Pray  go." 

*'  As  you  will."  He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  *'  Dear 
little  hand!"  he  said.  *'  Give  it  to  me,  Eudora,  and  it  shall 
be  my  priceless  treasure  through  life.*' 

He  was  gone;  E  adora  was  alone,  in  the  light  of  the  solemn 
stars.  For  the  first  time  she  looked  up.  Only  the  high, 
bright,  midnight  moon  was  there  to  see  her  virginal  blushes 
now. 

Something  more.  What  was  that  crashing  through  the  un- 
derbrush and  standing  before  her,  in  the  brilliant  moonlight 
— a  tall,  dark  ghost? 

There,  with  his  reproachful  face  and  haunting  eyes  turned 
full  upon  her — there,  plain  in  the  moonlight — stood  before 
her  the  man  she  loved — Launcelot  Lauriston. 


m 


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Hi 


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CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  captain's  ghost  STORY. 

Eudora  Varneck  stood  spell-bound,  paralyzed,  utterly 
unable  to  speak  or  move.  And  there,  still  and  upright  in  the 
moonlight,  Launcelot  Lauriston  stood  before  her — only  for 
one  instant;  then  the  tall,  dark  figure  wheeled  around  and 
vanished  amid  the  trees. 

Had  she  seen  him?  Was  it  her  lover  in  the  flesh,  or  his 
ghost?  Was  the  impetuous  lover  she  had  discarded  dead,  and 
was  this  his  reproachful  wraith? 

Dizzily  she  staggered  back  and  caught  at  the  wall  to  keep 
from  falling.  The  ground  seemed  heaving  beneath  her,  the 
starry  sky  spinning  round. 

She  staggered  blindly  through  the  open  window  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  sunk,  in  a  fainting  state,  into  the  nearest 
chair. 

And  the  ball  went  on.  Music  and  merriment  resounded, 
and  the  daughter  of  the  house  was  not  missed. 

It  was  ever-watchful  grandmamma  who  discovered  her  ab- 
sence first  She  was  not  in  any  of  the  rooms;  no  one  had  seen 
ber  for  over  half  an  hour»    Where  could  she  be?   She  stopped 


i 


H04: 


THE    HEIBESS    OF   6LEK    GOWER. 


i  •  ,. 


MiflB  Dandin^  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  stricken  admirer,  to 
ask  the  question. 

**  Eudora?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  1  have  not  seen  her 
for  ever  so  long.     She  must  be  in  one  of  the  rooms.'* 

"  Perhaps  Lord  Annesley  can  tell  you,  madame,"  suggested 
Valencia's  cavalier.  **  The  last  time  I  saw  Miss  Varneck  she 
was  passing  through  the  drawing-room,  on  his  lordship's 
arm." 

/  **  Oh,  indeed!"  said  grandmamma,  a  light  breaking  upon 
her.  '*  Thanks,  Mr.  Hammond.  I  see  his  lordship  over 
yonder." 

She  crossed  at  once  to  where  Lord  Annesley  stood.  He 
was  leaning,  in  his  weary  way,  against  a  vine- wreathed  col- 
umn, looking  listlessly  ct  the  dancers. 

'*  Where  is  Eudora,  Clarence?"  madame  asked,  a  little 
sharply.  "  What  have  you  done  with  her?  She  is  not  to  be 
found." 

Lord  Annesley  started  up. 

**  No?"  he  said.  **  Then,  perhaps,  she  has  not  come  in 
yet.     How  very  imprudent  to  remain  there  so  long!" 

'*  Where?    Surely  the  child  has  not  been  out?" 

**  Only  out  on  the  veranda^  madame.  I  left  her  there,  by 
her  own  desire,  about  half  an  hour  ago.  I  will  go  at  once  and 
find  her." 

He  started  on  his  errand  with  a  guilty  sense  of  how  com- 
pletely he  had  forgotten  the  poor  little  heiress.  He  had  been 
watching  that  dark  enchantress,  the  captain's  daughter,  in 
spite  of  himself,  and  he  had  forgotten  there  was  another 
woman  under  the  sun. 

Madame  kept  close  beside  him.  As  they  approached  the 
window  they  saw  a  little  white  figure  crouched  m  a  heap,  in  a 
huge  arm-chair,  in  a  strange,  distorted  attitude  of  pain.  The 
bright  head  lay  bowed  upon  the  gilded  arm  of  the  chair,  tlie 
little  figure  lay  motionless. 

Grandmamma  uttered  a  shrill  cry. 

**  The  child  has  fainted!"  she  said/  darting  forward. 
**  Eudora,  my  love — my  pet!" 

Eudora  had  not  fainted.  At  the  sharp  cry  she  slowly 
raised  her  head,  and  showed  them  a  pallid  face  and  burning 
blue  eyes. 

*'  My  darling,  what  is  it?  What  is  the  matter?"  grand- 
mamma exclaimed.     "  Are  you  ill?" 

The  girl  rose,  with  a  heavy,  hopeless  sigh.  She  mw  Lord 
Annesley  gazing  at  her  in  consternation,  and  it  aroused  her  m 
nothing  ^Ise  could  have  done. 


UsiMklr 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEB. 


205 


"  Yes,"  she  said,  drearily;  "  I  am  ill,  grandmamma— sick, 
sick  to  the  heart.  Oh,  take  me  to  my  own  room,  and  let  me 
get  away  from  this  dreadful  glaring  light,  and  that  horrible, 
horrible  music!" 

Her  voice  choked  in  a  dry,  hysterical  sob.  She  clung  to 
grandmamma  like  the  veriest  child. 

Mme.  Varneck  and  her  titled  kinsman  looked  at  each  other 
m  speechless  consternation. 

"  What  on  earth  is  it?  Do  you  understand  this,  my  lord? 
Eudora,  my  dear,  tell  grandmamma  what  has  happened  to 
distress  you?" 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  with  a  second  sob — "nothing  you 
would  understand — only  I  am  tired  and  sick,  grandmamma, 
and  I  want  to  go  to  my  room." 

"My  dear,  you  shall — you  are  ill  and  hysterical,  that  is 
plain.  Clarence,  say  nothing  of  this;  I  do  not  wish  our  guests! 
disturbed.  I  will  accompany  my  granddaughter  to  her  cham- 
ber, and  leave  her  in  charge  of  her  maid." 

Lord  Annesley  bowed,  wondering  and  distressed.  Could 
what  he  had  said  be  the  cause  of  all  this?  Young  ladies,  as 
a  general  thing,  do  not  fall  into  agonized  hysterics  upon  re- 
ceiving a  proposal;  but,  then,  no  two  young  ladies  are  alike. 

He  stood  aside,  and  saw  madame  lead  tenderly  away  the 
little,  clinging  heiress. 

"Odd!"  thought  his  lordship,  puzzled  intensely.  "I 
propose  to  two  young  ladies  to-night,  and  one  flies  into  a  pas- 
sion, and  the  other  falls  into  hysterics.  I  am  afraid  my  un- 
lucky star  is  in  the  ascendant.  I  shall  have  to  give  up  the 
business,  I  fear.*' 

Grandmamma  returned  presently  without  her  granddaugh- 
ter. Eudora  was  lying  down,  she  said.  All  she  required  was 
rest  and  solitude. 

And  Lord  Annesley  wandered  away  again  to  look  languidly 
at  the  dancers,  and  see  Valencia  Dandin,  the  brilliant  beauty 
of  the  ball. 

The  little  heiress,  of  course,  was  speedily  missed,  and  in- 
quiry made.     Madame  met  them  all  with  a  placid  front. 

The  poor  child  had  been  seized  with  so  violent  a  head  ace 
that  she  had  been  obliged  to  go  to  her  room  and  lie  down  for 
awhile.  It  was  the  heat  and  the  noise  and  the  unwonted  ex- 
citement, no  doubt.  No  one  was  to  disturb  himself — she 
would  return  presently. 

But  Eudora  did  not  return.  The  headache  proved  to  be 
obdurate,  and  the  ball  ended,  and  the  pretty  heiresf  did  not 
reappear. 


i! 


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«06 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWER. 


It  was  very  hard  Miss  Varneck,  of  all  people,  should  lose 
grandmamma's  brilliant  ball,  so  every  one  said. 

The  gray  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  crept  palely  over 
the  Maryland  hills;  a  new  day  arose;  the  guests  were  gone, 
and  Glen  Gower  was  at  peace  once  more. 

Still  wearing  her  satin  robes,  madame  sought  her  grand- 
daughter's chamber  before  retiring  to  her  room.  She  found 
Eudora  lying  quietly,  her  eyes  closed,  very  pale,  very  still. 

"  She  is  asleep,"  madame  thought,  tenderly. 

She  kissed  the  colorless  cheek,  blew  out  the  night-lamp, 
and  stole  softly  away. 

But  Eudora  was  not  asleep.  Should  she  ever  sleep  again? 
She  had  seen  her  lover's  ghost — Launcelot  Lauriston  was 
dead. 

That  was  the  thought  that,  in  the  still  '«^atches  of  that  most 
miserable  night,  had  fixed  itself  on  her  mmd  as  firmly  as  her 
own  existence. 

He  was  dead,  and  his  spirit  had  arisen  before  her  in  the  sol- 
emn midnight — in  the  mystic  light  of  the  moon— pale,  re- 
proachful. He  was  dead,  and  the  world  was  at  an  end  for 
her.  Twice,  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  he  had  s-ived  her  life. 
He  had  loved  her  with  his  whole  impetuous  heart,  and  this 
had  been  his  reward.  He  was  dead,  and  what  was  there  left 
for  her  in  the  wide  world  but  to  die,  too? 

'*  1  am  so  young  and  so  strong,"  she  thought,  with  a  dreary 
sigh,  **  and  life  is  so  long.  Oh,  Launcelot,  Launcelot!  And 
I  loved  you  so  dearly — so  dearly!" 

And  then  the  tears  came — the  blessed  tears  that  keep 
youthful  hearts  from  breaking.  Lying  there,  she  wept  long 
and  bitterly,  until  she  could  weep  no  longer. 

She  forgot  Lord  Annesley — she  forgot  all  the  world.     How 
could  she  remember  anything,  save  that  the  man  she  lo\ed 
was  dead,  and  thah  his  pallid  ghost  had  arisen  in  the  solemn 
.moonlight  to  reproach  her? 

*  So,  while  music  and  dancing  and  revelry  went  on  below, 
the  heiress  of  Glen  Gower  lay  buried  amid  her  pillows,  with 
a  sore — sore  heart. 

The  afternoon  shadows  lay  long  and  cool  on  the  grass  be- 
fore any  of  the  tired  family  quitted  their  rooms..  Madame 
was  one  of  the  first  to  descend,  and  she  found  Lord  Annesley 
pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  veranda,  his  eternal  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  He  flnng  it  away  at  sight  of  her,  and  came  eagerly 
forward. 

*'  I  have  been  miserably  restless  and  anxious,"  he  said, 
ftfter  the  first  greetings  were  past,     '"  I  take  all  the  blame  of 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOVVEH. 


207 


f> 


Miss  Varneck's  illness  on  myself.  It;  must  hav9  been  what  1 
said  to  her  last  night  that  wrought  the  change.  She  was  cer« 
tainly  well  enough  before. " 

*'  What  you  said?"  madame  repeated. 

**  1  asked  your  granddaughter  to  be  my  wife,  madame. 

**  And  she — what  did  she  say?'* 

**  She  gave  me  no  answer.  She  looked  confused,  startled. 
She  begged  me  to  leave  her,  to  give  her  until  to-day,  and  1 
returned  to  the  house.  The  next  time  1  saw  her  was  with 
yon." 

**  And  you  think  your  declaration  produced  the  hysteria? 
Clearly  impossible,  my  lord.  Eudora  is  of  an  excitable  tem- 
perament, but  there  was  nothing  in  that  to  distress  or  alarm 
her.  On  the  contrary,  she  must  have  felt — as  we  all  do — 
highly  flattered." 

Lord  Annesley  bowed  gravely. 

**  Thank  you,  madame.  I  fear,  however,  that  my  abrupt 
declaration  was  the  cause.  Will  you  kindly  tell  her  from  me 
that  1  would  be  the  last  person  alive  to  annoy  or  distress  her 
willingly?  Tell  her,  if  1  have  been  hasty  or  presumptuous,  I. 
beg  her  pardon,  and  that,  if  she  wishes  it,  I  withdraw  at  once 
all  pretentions  to  her  hand.  Let  her  forget  the  past,  as  I  will 
endeavor  to  do,  and  let  us  be  simply  friends  and  cousins  once 
more.'* 

"  I  will  deliver  your  message.  Lord  Annesley.  If,  how- 
ever, it  should  turn  out  to  be  otherwise — if  your  surmise 
proves  incorrect,  as  I  am  certain  it  will—what  then?" 

**  In  that  case  I  will  still  hope.  It  is  my  moet  ardent  wish 
to  win  my  fair  kinswoman's  regard." 

"  No  very  hard  matter,  I  should  think,"  madame  said, 
smiling  graciously.  "  I  am  going  to  Eudora's  room  now, 
Clarence.  In  an  hour  you  will  find  me  here  again,  and  you 
shall  know  your  fate." 

She  turned  away.     Lord  Annesley  calmly  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  My  fate  I"  he  thought.  "  Yes,  it  is  surely  fate,  hurrying 
me  on  whither  it  listeth.  We  drift  down  the  stream  as  the 
current  wills,  and  our  puny  efforts  to  reach  the  banks  on 
either  side  are  futile  as  a  babe's  grasp.  If  I  marry  Eudora 
Varneck,  I  will  be  true  to  her  in  thought  and  deed;  1  will  tear 
this  dark  sorceress  out  of  my  heart,  though  I  should  pluck 
that  heart  itself,  in  the  effort,  out  by  the  roots. " 

Eudora  was  alone  in  her  chamber  when  grandmamma  en- 
tered. She  sat  by  the  window,  her  white  dressing-gown  fall* 
ing  loosely  around  her — her  face  as  colorless  as  her  robe. 


In 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER, 


The  little  hands  lay  idly  in  her  lap — the  sad,  hopeless  ejw 
went  wandering  drearily  over  the  ceaseless  sea. 

*'  Up,  my  pet?"  grandmaimnu  said,  kissing  her — she  was 
yery  fond  of  her  pretty,  gentle  Eudora,  whatever  doubt  ana 
distrust  she  might  feel  for  her  mot  her — **  and  better,  1  hopa'' 

"1  don't  know,"  Eudora  replied,  wearily;  *Vmy  head 
aches,  I  think,  and  I  feel — oh,  grandmamma!  I  feel  as 
though  I  should  like  to  lie  down  and  die!" 

At  that  despairing  cry  of  girlish  distress,  Mme.  Yarneck 
stood  aghast. 

"  My  dear,  lie  down  and  die!  My  love,  what  on  earth  is 
the  matter?  Something  surely  happened  last  night.  Will  my 
pet  not  tell  grandmamma?" 

"  I  can't.  Oh,  please,  don't  ask  me.  It  is  beyond  your 
power  to  help — beyond  mortal  power,  now.  Oh,  grandmam- 
ma, 1  think  1  am  the  wickedest  and  most;  miserable  girl 
alive.  '* 

**  My  dear  child!"  grandmamma  could  just  gasp,  in  her 
consternation,  '*  do  you  know  what  dreadful  things  you  are 
saying?    You  are  not  growing  crazy,  I  hope?" 

**  No,  grandmamma.  I  have  not  even  that  chance  of  for- 
getf ulness.  I  am  not  crazy — I  know  what  I  say.  Oh,  1  have 
been  a  wicked,  wicked,  heartless  wretch!" 

*'  Come,  Eudora,"  exclaimed  madame,  resolutely,  *'  enough 
of  this.  I  won't  hear  my  granddaughter — Miss  Varneck,  of 
Glen  Gower — maligned  in  this  shocking  manner.  You  never 
committed  a  murder,  did  you?" 

But  the  smile  she  had  hoped  to  extort  did  not  come.  Miss 
Varneck  covered  her  poor,  pale  face  with  both  hands  and 
sobbed  convulsively. 

'*  Yes — yes — yes!  that  is  the  name  for  it.  I  murdered  him 
as  surely  as  though  I  had  plunged  a  dagger  into  his  heart. 
Oh,  will  1  ever  be  forgiven  in  this  world  or  the  next?" 

'*  Good  heavens!"  cried  Mme.  Varneck,  at  the  end  of  hor 
patience,  **  who  is  the  infatuated  child  speaking  of?  Eudora, 
you  don't  mean  Lord  Annesley?" 

**  Lord  Annesley!" 

She  dropped  her  hands,  and  sat  looking  at  the  elder  lady 
with  a  face  so  blank  that  it  needed  no  words  to  tell  how  com- 
pletely she  had  forgotten  him. 

**  Yes,  Lord  Annesley,  you  ridiculous  child!  Did  he  not 
ask  you  to  be  his  wife  last  night?" 

Eudora  passed  her  hands  helplessly  across  her  forehead. 

*'  I  had  forgotten  that,"  shie  said,  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way. 
•*  Yes,  he  asked  me.'" 


99 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


209 


"You  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses,  1  think/'  said  ma- 
d««me,  sharply.  **  He  asked  you,  and  you  have  forgotten? 
Really?  Pray,  Miss  Varneck,  what  reply  did  you  make? 
Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  that  also." 

"  Yea — no.     1  told  him  to  go  away,  and  he  went." 

**  Upon  my  word,  you  take  state  upon  yourself,  my  little 
heiress.  Rather  cavalier  fashion  to  treat  a  live  lord.  Did 
you  not  tell  him  he  should  have  his  answer  to-day?" 

*'  Did  1?     Oh,  ycj!    Has  he  been  telling  you,  grandma?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Varneck;  he  has  been  telling  me;  and,  what  is 
more,  he  is  nearly  distracted  at  the  incomprehensible  state 
you  are  in.     He  thinks  his  declaration  caused  it." 

"  His?  Oh,  no,  no,  no!  I  never  thought  of  him.  Tell 
him  so,  grandmamma.  DonH  let  him  distress  himself  on  my 
account.     He  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. " 

"  1  thought  as  much.  1  have  told  him  so  already.  And 
now,  Eudora,  leave  off  your  mysteries  and  speak  out  plainly. 
I  insist  upon  knowing  what  happened  after  he  left  you  on  the 
veranda  last  night." 

*'  Grandmamma,  don't— don't  I  Have  a  little  pity  on  your 
poor  Eudora!" 

"It  is  because  I  pity  even  her  imaginary  distress  so  much 
^because  1  love  my  little  Eudora  so  dearly — that  1  insist. 
Tell  me  what  it  was.  You  may  as  well.  I  will  not  leave  you 
until  you  do. " 

One  glance  at  the  determined  old  face  showed  helpless  Eu- 
dora she  would  keep  her  word.  With  a  heavy,  heavy  sigh, 
she  dropped  her  fair  head  on  the  broad,  maternal  breast. 

"  Grandmamma,  I — oh,  how  shall  I  tell  you? — I  saw  the 
spirit  of— of  a  person  who  is  dead,  last  night!" 

At  this  most  unexpected  revelation,  Mme.  Varneck  sat  per- 
fectly thunder-struck.  Of  all  the  confessions  she  had  looked 
for,  this  was  certainly  the  last 

**  You — saw — a  spirit?"  she  repeated,  gaspingly.  **  Eudora 
Varneck,  you  never  mean  to  tell  me  you  saw  a  ghost?" 

**  Yes,  grandmamma." 

**  Now  grant  me  patience!  You  absurd,  ridiculous  child! 
Are  you  not  ashamed  to  sit  here  and  talk  such  nonsense  as 
this?" 

'*  It  is  not  nonsense!"  the  indignant  tears  beginning  to 
flow.  **  I  saw  him  in  the  moonlight,  as  plainly  as  ever  I  saw 
him  in  my  life.  And  he  is  dead,  and  it  was  his  spirit,  and  I — 
Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear!" 

The  raining  tears^  the  irrepressible  sobs,  were  nothing  to  be 
laughed  at.    Absurd  as  it  might  be  to  lookers-on,  the  ohildiflh 


\l 


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1 

I 


I 


I 


210 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEIi. 


digtrees  was  nono  the  less  real  and  bitter.  Grandmamma  was 
too  kind-hearted  not  to  bo  touched.  She  took  the  poor  little 
girl  in  her  arms  and  hushed  the  sobs  on  her  breast. 

**My  dear — my  dear,  don't  cry!  Grandma  would  be  the 
last  in  the  world  to  distress  her  pet  Don't  cry  so  bitterly! 
Tell  me  whose  spirit  it  was?" 

**  No,  no!  1  can  not!  Don't  ask  me,  grandmamma — 
don't,  don't!" 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  won't.  We  won't  speak  of  it  at  all. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else — Lord  Annesley,  for  instance. 
You  promised  him  his  answer  to-day.  He  loves  my  foolish 
little  girl  very  dearly.  He  will  make  her  the  best  husband  in 
the  world.  She  must  marry  some  time.  W^hy  not  marry  this 
prospective  earl?" 

The  sobs  ceased  suddenly.  Not  that  Eudora  was  dazzled 
now  by  the  prospective  earldom.  She  was  thinking  of 
madame's  last  words,  **  You  must  marry  some  time."  Must 
she?    And  she  had  hoped  to  live  and  die  Eudora  Varneck. 

'*  We  all  like  him — your  papa  and  1.  Ho  is  everything  the 
most  romantic  girl  could  wish — young,  handsome,  elegant, 
high-bred,  and  a  nobleman.  You  don't  care  for  anybody  else. 
He  will  make  you  happy,  1  know.  Say  *  yes,'  Eudora,  and 
make  him  happy,  too." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  sobbing  had  quite  ceased.  Eudora 
lay  very  still. 

**My  little  girl  doesn't  care  for  anyone  else,  1  know,'* 
grand  mamma  said,  gently. 

*'  No,  grandmamma,"  very,  very  mournfully,  "  for  no  one 
alive  now.     But — " 

**  What,  my  own?  You  don't  dislike  our  handsome 
Clarence?" 

'*  No,  grandmamma.  How  could  I?  1  like  him — I  like 
him  very  much;  but  I  don't — no,  I  don't  love  him!" 

**  My  pet,  you  will  love  him  dearly  before  a  month.  No 
one  could  help  it.    I  may  tell  him,  then,  Eudora  says  '  yes  '?" 

"  Oh,  grandmamma!  I  don't  know — I  don't  know!  Oh, 
what  shall  i  do?  Grandmamma!" — suddenly,  impetuously — 
*'  would  it  make  you  happy — would  it  make  papa  happy  if  I 
gaid  yes?" 

*'  very  happy,  my  dear  Eudora!    Happier  than  happy!" 

The  tears  came  again — more  gently  this  timfi,  but  f owing 
fast. 

**  And  you  have  been  so  good  to  me — so  very  good!  You 
have  done  so  much  for  me!  Dear  grandmamma — dear,  best 
grandmamma  that  ever  was  in  this  world  l—I  will  do  what- 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLiiN    GOWER. 


211 


ever  you  say — whatever  you  think  right.  1  wiJl  uiiwry  Lord 
Annealey  if  you  wish  it/' 

*'  That  is  my  good  little  granddaughter!  1  knew  you 
would  I  Oh,  you  will  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and  the 
envy  of  all  the  girls  in  Maryland.  Now,  dry  your  tears,  my 
own,  and  compose  yourself,  whil»<  I  go  and  make  him  blessed 
with  the  joyful  news.  You  will  come  down  by  and  by,  will 
you  not?" 

*'  Not  to-day,  I  think.  Give  me  until  to-morrow.  Leave 
me  alone  until  then,  grandmamma,  and  1  will  do  better." 

*'  And  you  won't — you  won't  see  any  more  ghosts  if  you  can 
help  it?  Had  you  not  better  keep  your  maid  with  you,  or 
your  friend  Miss  Dandin?" 

**  No,  no!"  poor  Eudora  said,  mournfully.  '*  1  want  to  be 
»lone.  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything.  To-morrow  I  will  be 
<<uite  well  again." 

**  Then,  tor  the  present,"  stooping  and  kissing  her,  '*  my 
fair,  future  Lady  Annesley,  good-bye!" 

She  left  the  room;  and  Eudora,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  tried  to  shut  out  the  whole  mournful  world. 

"Forgive  me,  Launcelot!"  her  heart  cried.  "You  aio 
gone,  my  best  beloved,  and  what  does  it  matter  what  becomes 
of  me?  Oh,  let  me  make  some  one  happy  before  I  die!  I 
have  made  misery  enough  already!" 

Madame  found  her  kinsman  lounging  idly  on  the  veranda, 
looking  with  lazy  brown  eyes  at  the  sunlit  prospect  of  meadt>\v 
and  woodland. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  madame,  tapping  nim  briskly 
on  the  arm.  "  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  Eudora's  indis- 
position. The  silly  child  got  a  fright  after  you  left  her.  She 
thinks — you  will  hardly  credit  it — she  thinks  she  saw  a  ghosti" 

"  A  ghost!" 

"Yes — incredible,  isn't  it?  A  tree  in  the  moonlight,  a 
ahadow  on  the  grass — who  knows  what?  But  it  frightened  her 
sorely.  You  will  not  see  her  until  to-morrow,  but  she  sends 
her  answer  by  me. " 

Lord  Annesley  looked  at  her.  The  answer  was  written  very 
plainly  in  madame's  smiling  face. 

"  It  is  yes,  of  course.  She  told  me  in  the  prettiest,  shyest 
way  how  much  she  liked  you.  Permit  me  to  offer  you  my 
congratulations,  my  lord.  It  has  been  the  dearest  wish  of  my 
heart." 

He  held  out  his  hand — very  pale,  very  grave. 

"  It  will  be  the  aim  of  my  life  to  make  ner  happy/'  he  said. 
**  She  is  worthy  a  better  man  than  L" 


»< 


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■  !f^: 


>f 


!  :l 


212 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    OOWKU. 


(( 


Of  course;  but  the  *  better  man  '  is  so  hard  to  find.  And 
now  1  must  go  and  superintend  my  household  matters.  By 
the  way,  are  none  of  our  lazy  people  up  yet?" 

**  Colonel  Varneck  has  gone  for  a  constitutional.  Captain 
Dandin  has  ridden  away  to  Baltimore.  The  ladies  have  not 
yet  appeared.    Here  comes  the  colonel  back — I  will  join  him.'* 

**  And  tell  him  the  good  news,"  said  madame,  turning  into 
the  house.     '*  He  will  be  as  pleased  as  1  am.'* 

The  whole  family  met  at  dinner,  with  the  exception  of 
Eudora  and  Captain  Dandin.  The  young  lady  still  Kept  her 
chamber;  the  gentleman  had  not  returned  from  the  city.  He 
had  gone  to  see  if  his  Silver  Shore  protegees  had  yet  arrived, 
and  this  time  he  found  them  safely  established  with  Dr.  Brith- 
wood.  His  visit  was  a  short  one.  Launcelot  was  moody  and 
silent,  not  to  say  sulky,  and  Mrs.  Lauriston  was,  of  course,  dis- 
tressed. 

**  I  really  think  he  was  at  Glen  Gower  last  night,"  she  said, 
confidentially.  **  Be  was  absent  until  long  after  midnight, 
and  returned  as  you  see  him,  gloomv  and  dejected.  He  may 
have  caught  sight  of  Miss  Varueck. 

**  Foolish  boy!"  the  captain  answered;  **  but  we  will  cure 
him  of  his  folly,  dear  lady,  ere  long.  A  prettier  girl  shall 
come,  and  he  will  forget  the  flirting  little  heiress." 

It  was  late  when  the  captain  reached  the  house,  and  just  in 
time  to  escape  a  summer  hurricane.  Lightning  and  thunder 
and  rain  and  wind  made  the  sultry  summer  night  terrible. 

**  A  wild  night,  my  fate!"  Captain  Dandin  said,  entering 
the  drawing-room,  where  all  save  Eudora  were.  **  1  have  just 
escaped  with  dry  bones — no  more." 

**  A  fitter  night  for  Eudora's  ghost  than  last  night,"  re- 
marked the  colonel,  with  a  careless  laugh. 

They  had  been  discussing  the  strange  story  of  the  girl's 
fright  and  subsequent  illness. 

Eh?"  said  the  captain,  sharply,  *'  what  did  you  say? 
Miss  Varneck's  ghost?" 

*'  Oh,  Eudora  thinks  she  saw  an  apparition  last  night  in  the 
moonlight,  and  the  fancy  has  made  her  ill.  Girls  will  be  silly, 
but  this  last  is  the  climax  of  silliness." 

It  broke  upon  the  captain  like  a  flash. 

**  Whose  gnost?"  he  asked.     *'  Does  she  say?" 

**  No — does  she,  madame?  That  part  she  persists  in  keep- 
ing secret.     It  is  a  gentleman's  ghost,  however. " 

**  Gilbert,  for  shame!"  his  mother  cried.  **  It  is  no  jesting 
matter.  The  poor  child  is  really  Ul  with  terror.  I  nerer 
dreamed  she  was  so  imaginative.^' 


>> 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEIU 


213 


]d.    And 
lers.     By 

Captain 
lavo  not 
in  him." 
ling  into 

Ipfcion  of 
jKept  her 
|ity.  He 
arrived, 
fr.  Brith- 
>ody  and 
ii'se,  dis- 

she  said, 
lidnight. 
He  may 

^ill  cure 
?irl  shall 

d  just  in 
thunder 
ible. 
entering 
ave  just 

it/'  re- 

»e  girl's 

ou  say? 

t  in  the 

36  silly. 


1  keep- 
jesting 
nerer 


"It  may  not  be  imacinulion,"  said  the  captain,  coolly. 
**  Porhans  she  did  sou — wfiaL  ahv  sayw. *' 

Everybody  stared.  Cuptain  Daudin  took  a  scat,  and  met 
their  regards  coolly. 

**  By  Jove!**  exclaimed  the  colonel,  **  here's  Dandin  going 
to  set  lip  for  a  believor  in  ghosts— Dandin,  who  doesn't  believe 
in  spirits  of  any  kind — celestial  or  diabolical.*' 

*'  How  do  you  know  1  don't?  Some  of  the  latter  I  have 
been  personally  acquainted  with.  Ah  for  ghosts — well,  1  never 
saw  a  bond-fide  ghost  myself,  but  I  once  saw  a  person  who 
did." 

**  Of  course,"  said  the  colonel;  **  always  the  way.  No  one 
hfts  ever  seen  a  ghost  himself,  but  he  always  knows  a  person 
who  has.  What  was  your  spook  like?  IS uj:)ernatu rally  tall, 
and  robed  in  a  white  sheet,  or  clad  in  armor  and  rattling  in 
chains,  like  the  Castlu  Specter?  Tell  us  about  it,  Dandin — 
it's  just  the  night  for  a  ghost  story.  Lightning  Hashing, 
thunder  crashing,  rain  falling,  wind  brawling,  and  everybody 
listening  with  hair  bristling!    Fire  away!" 

Captain  Dandin  looked  about  him  with  a  smile,  not  evoked, 
however,  by  the  colonel's  extempore  doggerel.  His  sinister 
glance  and  smile  rested,  last  of  all,  upon  Gilbert  Varneck'a 
wife. 

She  had  drawn  suddenly  a  little  apart  x'rom  the  rest,  and 
sat  very  still,  her  face  hidden  by  a  fancifui  little  hand-screen. 

*'  The  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  true,  messieurs  and 
mesdames,  ghost  story  though  it  be.  I  have  it  from  the  lady 
herself.  It  begins  in  a  very  old  way.  An  infatuated  girl,  mad 
with  love — a  false  young  man — desertion — despair — despera- 
tion. And  it  ends  in  a  way  not  altogether  new:  the  lady 
murders  the  gentleman." 

"  You  said  just  now  you  had  the  story  from  the  lady  her- 
self," observed  the  colonel.  "  Does  your  visiting  list  embrace 
a  few  murderesses,  my  dear  Dandin?*' 

*'  I  happened  to  know  this  one,  at  least.  The  lady  slipped 
through  the  fingers  of  Justice;  time  healed  her  wounds  and 
hid  her  secret.  She  married  a  husband — let  me  see — some 
ten  years  after.  The  mad  passion  of  her  youth  had  long  be- 
fore burned  itself  out.  She  loved  the  poor  fool  she  had  duped 
into  marrying  her  better  than  she  had  ever  loved  her  first 
lover.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the  dead  man  and  her  hid- 
den crime,  until  one  moonlight  night,  as  she  stood  in  her  hus- 
band's garden,  the  dead  man  rose  and  appeared  before  her — " 

**  By  George!"  interrupted  Colonel  Varneck. 

*'  She  had  not  been  thmking  of  him.    It  was  no  optical 


if 


li    1 


n 


4  i 


] 


/ 


214 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


illusion — no  fancy  of  a  feverish  and  distempered  bram.  Yes, 
there  he  stood  before  her^  as  plain  as  she  ever  saw  him  in 
life!" 

**  The  lady  fainted,  of  course?"  said  the  colonel. 

**  She  fainted — yes;  but  when  she  recovered  she  had 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  keep  her  horrible  secret  to  her- 
self. She  saw  the  specter  again — once  or  twice,  I  am  not  sure 
which.  Each  time  she  was  quite  alone,  each  time  in  the  same 
place,  each  time  when  she  least  expected  it.  The  man  she 
had  shot  rose  before  her  precisely  as  she  had  seen  him  in  life 
—an  avenging  ghost.  The  crime  she  had  hidden  from  man 
wrought  its  own  atonement. " 

"  I  am  glad  Eudora  is  not  here  to  listen  to  your  raw-head, 
and-bloody-bones  story.  Captain  Dandin,"saidMme.  Varneck, 
a  little  impatiently.  **  Did  the  lady  take  you  into  her  confi- 
dence, from  which  the  rest  of  the  world  was  excluded?" 

The  captain's  sinister  smile  was  at  its  brightest.  His  gleam- 
ing black  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  lurid  fire  upon  Eleanor  Var- 
neck. 

"  Pardon  me,  madame;  I  keep  my  secrets.  I  knew  the 
murdered  man  well;  he  was  my  particular  friend.  His  name 
was  Gerald  Rosslyn.  The  name  of  the  woman  who  shot  him 
down  in  cold  blood — the  murderess — was — " 

There  was  a  horrible  pause.  The  blaze  of  the  lightning 
filled  the  room;  the  thunder  broke  above  their  heads  as  though 
the  heavens  were  rending  in  twain.  No  one  knew  why,  but 
all  held  their  breath  in  expectation. 

The  captain  spoke  again: 

'*  How  it  lightnings!  how  it  thunders!  Will  it  be  worse  on 
the  Judgment  Day,  I  wonder,  and  how  will  it  fare  with  mur- 
deresses then?  1  don't  think  I'll  mention  the  name  of  my 
murderess  to-night.  She  still  lives,  and  is  a  most  respectable 
and  estimable  lady,  moving  in  the  very  best  society.  Who 
knows?  You  may  meet  her  one  day,  Madame  Varneck,  and 
you  will  feel  more  comfortable  as  you  brush  skirts  not  to 
know  that  she  once  shot  a  man.  '  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,' 
etc.  Hah!  look  there!  I  fear  your  wife,  colonel,  is  not  very 
well." 

The  hand-screen  had  dropped,  her  head  had  fallen  back, 
her  face  was  livid.  Sitting  there  quietly,  without  moan  or 
cry,  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife  had  fainted  entirely  away. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


215 


Yes, 
urn  in 


|e   had 

|to  her- 
)t  sure 
|e  same 
fan  she 
in  life 
man 

-head, 
irneck, 
'  confi- 

jleam- 
r  Var- 

Jvr  the 
>  name 
ot  him 

htning 
hoo^h 
y,  but 


rse  on 
mur- 
)f  my 
c  table 
Who 
:,  and 
lot  to 
3liss/ 
i  very 

back, 
in  or 


CHAPTER  XIl. 

FACING  THE  WORST. 

Eleanor  Vaeneck  sat  alone  in  her  room,  the  door  locked, 
the  world  shut  out.  The  sunshine  of  a  brilliant  morning 
flooded  the  apartment,  and  set  the  golden  canaries  in  their 
gilded  cages  mad  with  joy. 

The  lightning  and  thunder  and  rain  had  passed  with  the 
night— all  without  was  sunshine  and  peace;  but  a  night  of 
blackest  despair  reigned  in  Eleanor  Varneck's  soul — must 
reign  there  for  evermore. 

*'  My  sin  has  found  me  out,"  she  thought — "  the  day  of  my 
doom  has  come!  Eetribution  has  come  to  mel  Truly,  *  the 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard.' '' 

She  thought  it  \7ith  a  sort  of  sullen  despair.  She  sat  very 
still,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  lap,  her  darkly  brooding  face 
never  moving  in  its  fixed,  stony  calm. 

The  worst  anguish  was  past — the  first  fierce  pangs  of  torture 
that  had  followed  her  recovery  from  that  fainting  fit  were 
over.  Dark,  sullen  despair  had  come  in  their  place,  and  she 
sat  there  in  tearless,  hopeless  calm.  She  knew  the  worst  now 
—she  knew  her  fate  was  upon  her — all  she  had  dreaded  most 
was  at  hand. 

Already  she  was  suspected — she  could  see  it  in  Mme.  Var- 
neck's  averted  face,  in  her  husband's  troubled,  eyes — not  of 
the  horrible,  unnatural  truth,  but  of  something  vague  and 
terrible — something  that  had  cast  her  out  already  from  their 
confidence  and  love,  that  had  rendered  her  an  outcast  in  the 
place  she  had  usurped. 

"  All  is  gone,"  she  thought — **  wealth,  position,  and  my 
husband^s  love!  That  is  the  bitterest  blow  of  all!  Whatever 
1  was,  whatever  1  am,  I  Icve  him — my  adored  husband ! — as 
no  one  will  ever  love  him  again  in  this  world!  For  his  sake  I 
would  have  been  the  truest,  tenderesli  wife,  the  most  devoted 
mother,  the  most  obedient  daughter  to  that  proud  old  woman. 
I  would  have  become  pure,  and  womanly,  and  good.  But  all 
that  is  passed.  I  have  sinned,  and  my  sin  has  found  me  out. 
There  is  nothing  left  now  but  to  '  cover  my  face  and  die  with 
dignity.'  " 

Her  glazed  eyes  never  left  the  tinted  walls,  her  rigid  face 
never  altered  while  she  thought  this.  All  power  to  feel  and 
sufter  was  numbed  and  dead  within  her.    She  had  endured  a 


/-M' 


216 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


'  ^i!  '^i 


life-time  of  fiercest  agony  in  the  past  night  Come  what 
might,  she  could  never  sutler  like  that  again. 

The  morning  wore  on.  The  September  sunlight  lay  in 
squares  of  glory  upon  the  carpet,  and  lighted  up  the  wretched 
woman's  haggard  face.  She  sat,  all  unconscious  of  the  pas- 
sage of  time,  lost  in  the  depth  of  her  supreme  misery. 

**  How  long  will  he  give  me?"  she  wondered.  **  How  long 
before  I  am  branded  as  a  usurper  and  a  murderess  to  all  the 
world?  Not  long,  1  know;  but  long  enough  to  finish  my 
career  of  crime— long  enough  to  be  even  with  you.  Captain 
Dandin!" 

She  rose  up  suddenly,  her  dull  black  eyes  lighting  fiercely, 
and  crossed  the  room.  An  old,  time-beaten  trunk  that  had 
accompanied  her  when  she  first  came  to  Glen  Gower  stood 
hidden  away  in  a  closet,  securely  locked  and  strapped.  She 
drew  it  forth,  knelt  down,  unstrapped  it,  took  a  key  from 
around  her  neck,  and  turned  it  sharply  in  the  lock. 

She  threw  back  the  lid.  There  was  nothing  within  but  old 
garments — dingy  black  dresses  and  shawls  and  mantles  that 
had  been  hers  in  the  days  of  her  poverty  and  toil. 

Yes,  something  else,  hidden  from  sight  beneath  all.  She 
drew  out  something  that  glittered  in  the  sunshine — a  pistol! 

Gilbert  Varneck's  wicked  wife  held  it  up  to  the  light  and 
looked  at  it  long  and  earnestly,  the  dusky  light  in  her  eyes 
deepening  and  deepening. 

The  pistol  was  rusted  and  tarnished  with  time  and  disuse. 
Slowly  a  dark,  deadly  smile  crept  over  her  haggard  face. 

"  You  did  me  good  service  once,  my  friend,"  she  said, 
••  when  you  shot  down  in  his  bridal  hour  Gerald  Rosslyn. 
You  shall  do  me  good  service  once  again,  before  the  tragic 
fitory  of  my  life  ends,  when  you  shoot  down,  like  a  mad  dog, 
Gerald  Rosslyn's  friend.  Captain  D«idinl" 

She  thrust  the  trunk  back  in  its  place,  closed  the  closet, 
took  a  seat  by  the  window,  and  began  diligently  rubbing  away 
at  the  rusted  spots  upon  the  little  weapon. 

*'  You  deserve  to  snine  brightly,"  she  said,  speaking  to  the 
deadly  toy,  that  creeping  smile  still  dark  on  her  face,  "  for  the 
service  you  have  done — for  the  service  you  will  do.  Tq-day 
for  you,  Captain  Dandin;  to-morrow  for  me.  The  worm  you 
have  trodden  on  for  eight  long  years  will  turn  in  its  dying 
struggles.  Do  your  worst;  I  am  ready  to  meet  the  doom  I 
can  not  avoid.  Do  your  worst,  and  I  will  do  mine.  We  will 
cry  quits,  1  think,  in  our  dying  hour,  my  deadly  enemy!" 

She  worked  on.  The  smile  faded  away;  her  face  settled 
into  marble  rigidity.     Earthly  hope  had  gone;  she  had  set 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


2i7 


what 

ly  in 
bched 
pas- 
long 
lithe 
my 
Iptain 


Herself  resolutely  to  meet  her  doom.  Do  what  he  might,  Cap- 
tain Dandiu  could  never  make  her  fear  him  again  as  she  had 
feared  him. 

'*  I  cau  do  as  the  Indians  do,"  she  thought,  with  strange, 
(lull  calm — *'  go  to  the  stake  and  suffer  the  torture  without  a 
groan.  'Come  what  will,  I  have  been  blessed.*  Yes,  for 
eight  years  I  have  been  unutterably  happy.  The  man  I  love, 
I  worship,  has  been  mine — all  my  own.  When  I  lose  him  it 
matters  little  how  soon  death  comes.  I  don't  think  there  can 
be  worse  torture  in  the  other  world  than  1  have  suffered 
already  here." 

A  shadow  passing  darkened  the  sunshine.  She  looked  up 
and  saw  Captain  Dandin  lounging  down  toward  the  shore, 
smoking  a  cigar. 

He  looked  up,  met  her  eye,  raised  his  hat  with  a  brilliant 
smile,  and  was  about  to  pass  on. 

She  stopped  him  by  a  sign,  and  threw  open  the  window. 

*'  One  moment.  Captain  Dandin,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  voice. 
**  1  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

"  At  madame's  service.  1  trust  1  see  you  better,  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert Varneck.  My  faith!  but  you  frightened  us  all  by  your 
sudden  fainting  fit  last  night. " 

**  Are  you  going  to  the  shore?"  she  asked,  steadily. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  most  certainly.     Where  would  1  not  go  to 

E lease  my  fairest  Adelia?  Does  the  name  sound  oddly?  One 
ears  it  so  seldom." 

*'  Go  down  to  the  shore,"  she  said,  in  the  same  steady  voice, 
**  and  wait  for  me.  The  time  has  come.  Captain  Dandin,  for 
us  to  understand  each  other.  I  will  join  you  in  fifteen 
minutes." 

He  made  her  a  flourishing  bow  and  turned  to  go,  his  dia- 
bolical smile  at  its  brightest 

**  Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  has  but  to  speak  to  be  obeyed  by 
the  most  devoted  of  her  slaves.  1  will  await  you  there,  fairest 
Adelia." 

She  closed  the  window,  hid  the  pistol  in  the  pocket  of  her 
dress,  and  rose.  A  dark,  heavy  shawl  hung  in  the  wardrobe. 
She  threw  it  over  her  head  and  around  her,  opened  the  door, 
ftnd  went  out. 

She  met  no  one — she  was  past  caring  if  she  had.  All  the 
minor  matters  of  life  had  sunk  into  insignificance  now.  She 
went  through  a  side  door  into  the  grounds,  and  flitted  away 
under  the  waving  trees,  where  the  birds  sung  jubilantly,  down 
to  the  sea-shore. 

Captain  Dandin  leaned  against  a  rock,  smoking  while  he 


rn 


i.  1 


I:. .' 


'1^ 


I-'-} 


218 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


it 


(( 


waited,  and  lazily  watching  the  monotonous  wash  of  the  wavea 
No  living  thing  but  themselves  was  to  be  seen — the  long  sandy 
shore  was  entively  deserted. 

The  captain  started  up  and  threw  his  cigar  into  the  water 
as  she  drew  near.  His  evil  smile  still  lighted  his  ugly  face  as 
ho  turned  to  meet  her.     Hers  was  fixed  as  death. 

For  an  instant  they  stood  looking  full  in  each  other's  eyes. 
In  that  supreme  moment  neither  quailed.  She  had  passed 
beyond  earthly  fear — her  doom  was  fixed  as  eternity  itself — 
she  would  face  it,  and  defy  him  to  the  death. 

**  My  faith!"  cried  the  captain,  with  a  soft  laugh>  **  but  tlie 
world  has  changed  in  a  night!  You  have  got  quite  a  new  way 
of  looking,  my  lady. " 

**  What  did  you  mean,"  she  asked,  quietly,  "  by  telling  my 
story  to  all  these  people?" 

**  And  we  take  it  like  that!  So  cool,  so  placid,  so  sweetly! 
Fairest  Adelia,  I  meant  that  the  eight  years  had  expired — that 
our  compact  was  at  an  end — that  Dandin  was  free. 

"  You  are  going  to  tell  all?" 
You  have  said  it,  fairest  lady.     1  am  going  to  tell  all!" 

There  was  a  pause.  She  broke  it  first — voice  nor  face  never 
changing. 

**  What  have  1  ever  done  to  you,"  she  said,  "that  you 
should  hate  and  hunt  me  down  like  this?'* 

Captain  Dandin  laughed. 

"  Hate  you?  Now  what  an  ugly  word  that  is!  Did  you 
not  give  me  five  thousand  dollars?  Did  you  not  present  me 
with  the  ancestral  diamonds?  Have  you  not  paid  the  stipu- 
lated yearly  sum  like  a  lady  of  honor?  Why,  then,  talk  of 
hate?  Dandin  admires  the  beautiful  Adelia  beyond  all  her 
sex.  No,  no;  it  is  not  hate.  It  is  *  justice,  though  the 
heavens  fall.'  *  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  a  life 
for  a  life.'  The  shedder  of  blood,  by  man  shall  be  slain. 
Gerald  Eosslyn  was  murdered  more  foully  than  man  was  ever 
murdered  before.  Gerald  Rosslyn's  murderess  is  also  my 
friend;  but  for  that  murderess  the  rope  and  the  gallows  wait, 
and  Jules  Dandin  will  go  to  the  scaffold  to  see  her  hung!" 

Mrs.  Gilbert  Varneck  never  flinched.  The  slow,  deathly 
smile  that  had  dawned  upon  her  face  when  she  took  out  the 
pistol,  dawned  upon  it  again  as  she  met  the  man's  sinister  gaza 

**  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  as  though  weighing  his  words,  **  it 
in  so  much  better  to  understand  each  other.  I  understand 
you.  Captain  Dandin,  thoroughly  now.  Would  you  not  like 
to  understand  me  a  little,  also?" 

There  was  something  so  dark  and  deadly  in  her  burning 


4,1 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


219 


|ave& 

|audy 

rater 
^ceas 


you 


J 


black  eyes,  in  her  quiet,  monotonous  voice,  that  the  villain 
absolutely  recoiled. 

*'  The  devil!"  he  said,  a  glimpse  of  the  savage  within  him 
flashing  out  involuntarily.     **  What  do  you  mean?'* 

"Ah,  I  soe!"  still  with  that  smile  that  made  his  flesh 
creep;  '*  you  are  afraid.  Captain  Dandin.  Well,  you  have 
reason  to  be.  The  veriest  slave  that  ever  crawled,  when  past 
hope,  past  help,  past  everything,  will  sometimes  turn  on  his 
tyrant  and  tormentor.  I  don't  threaten,  but  Captain  Dandin 
is  afraid  of  his  victim." 

He  tried  to  laugh— his  old,  cynical  laugh — but  the  effort 
was  a  miserable  failure. 

'*  My  own  Adelia,  what  will  you  do?  Shoot  me  as  you  did 
Gerald  Rosslyn?" 

'*  You  will  see  when  the  time  comes.  Why  have  you  kept 
my  secret  for  over  eight  years,  to  reveal  it  now?*' 

'*  Do  you  need  to  ask?  To  make  my  revenge  the  sweeter, 
the  more  complete.  Eight  years  ago  you  did  not  love  your 
husband — or  the  man  you  claim  as  husband— as  you  love  him 
now.  Eight  years  ago  you  would  not  have  felt  his  scorn,  his 
loathing,  his  horror,  as  you  will  feel  it  now." 

"  The  man  I  claim  as  husband  is  my  husband,"  the  woman 
said,  unflinchingly.     "  No  earthly  power  can  undo  that." 

'*  Can  it  not?"  he  laughed  aloud.  **  Why,  poor  fool,  poor 
imbecile,  he  has  never  been  your  husband  for  one  little  hour!" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  Why  do 
you  tell  me  lies?    You  saw  us  married  yourself. " 

'*  Certainly,  1  saw  you  married;  the  clergyman  was  an 
orthodox  clergyman;  but,  for  all  that,  you  are  not,  you  have 
never  been  for  one  poor  second,  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife. " 

"  And  why?" 

"  Because— you  idiot,  you  dupe! — the  laws  of  this  narrow- 
minded  country  prohibit  a  man  from  having  two  wives  at  one 
|ind  the  same  time.  Because,  if  he  will  persist  in  such  folly, 
It  declares  the  last  marriage  null  and  void." 

*'  Still  I  don't  comprehend,"  she  said,  with  slow  patience. 
^*  Gilbert  Varneck  has  no  wife  living  but  me." 

"*But  you?"  He  laughed  aloud  again.  "  Oh,  infatuated 
Adelia!  His  wife  lives— his  lawful  wife — the  bride  of  his 
youth — the  only  woman  he  ever  really  loved— your  sister 
Bleanor!" 

She  staggered  back  and  stood  looking  at  him.  He  had 
struck  her  dumb  at  last 

"  Oh,  fool,  fool,  fool!"  he  cried — "  poor  fool,  from  fiirst  to 
last!    And  you  thought  you  could  fathom  the  depth  of  DaU' 


\h    .i| 


2fiO 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEE. 


'■  'i 


1^ 


din's  revenge — you,  with  your  shallow  woman's  brain,  your 
infatuated  woman's  heart!  She  lives,  I  tell  you — a  hundred 
times  niore  beautiful  than  you.  She  lives,  and  her  son — the 
image  of  his  handsome  father — lives,  and  will  inherit  Glen 
Gower  when  you  and  your  wax-doll  upstart  are  cast  out  and 
fugitive.  Eleanor  Varneck  lives,  and  you — what  you  were 
in  your  mad  girlhood,  when  you  eloped  with  Gerald  Eosslyn 
and  became  his  toy  of  an  hour,  you  have  been  for  the  past 
eight  years  with  Gilbert  Varneck.  Ha!  ha!  my  fair  one 
You  stand  confounded  at  last.  Who  is  victor  now,  my  clever 
Adelia  Lyon?" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  the  dull,  leaden  pallor  of 
death  creeping  over  her  face  for  the  first  time. 

**  Is  this  true?"  she  asked. 

**  True  as  the  heaven  you  will  never  see,  my  Adelia. 
Eleanar  Varneck  and  her  son  live,  and  are  in  Baltimore.  Be- 
fore the  September  moon  wanes  she  shall  be  in  your  place  in 
Gilbert  Varneck's  arms." 

She  held  out  her  hands  with  a  sudden  cry.  That  blow  had 
gone  straight  to  her  heart. 

**  Oh,  my  God,  have  mercy!  I  thought  she  was  dead. 
Tell  me,"  she  cried,  turning  upon  him  with  sudden  fury,  "  is 
it  this  Mrs.  Lauriston  of  whom  they  speak?" 

"It  is." 

"And  Launcelot  Lauriston,  her  son— Gilbert  Varneck's 
son— is  the  man  who  saved  my  daughter's  life?" 

"  Launcelot  Lauriston  is  her  son  and  Gilbert  Varneck's  son, 
certainly;  but  he  never  saved  your  daughter's  life." 

What  do  you  mean?    Did  he  not  twice  save  Eudora? 

Undoubtedly.     I  mean,  my  poor,  ridiculous  Adelia,  that 
the  little  Eudora  is  no  daughter  of  yours. " 

"  What!" 

**  Oh,  poor,  poor,  poor  imbecile!  Fooled  to  the  top  of  your 
bent— fooled  even  by  an  ignorant  old  woman.  The  girl  Eu- 
dora is  no  child  of  yours.  Even  Granny  Croak  duped  you. 
When  you  went  to  her  for  your  child,  that  child  was  thou- 
sands of  miles  away,  and  the  ignorant  old  woman  of  New  Jersey 
took  your  money,  and  told  you  lies,  and  laughed  in  her  sleeve, 
and  gave  you  her  grandchild. " 
Her  grandchild?" 

Yes — little  Dora  Dalton.     1  have  the  woman's  dying 
deposition  down  in  black  and  white.    Even  she  could  fool  you. 
My  clever  Adelia,  what  do  jrou  think  of  your  clevorness  now?" 
"  Where,  then,  is  my  child?" 


(( 


it 


)» 


it 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


221 


m,  youp 
lundred 
(on— the 
fit  Glen 
|out  and 
)u  Were 
iRossIyn 
Lhe  past 
tir  one 
clever 

kllor  of 


Adelia. 
•e.  Be- 
3lace  in 

ow  had 


3  dead, 
ry,  "  is 


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a?" 
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irl  Eu- 
dyou. 
thou- 
Jersej 
rieeve^ 


dying 
lyou. 

LOW?'' 


She  spoke  in  a  dull,  thick  voice.  That  leaden  pallor  stiT. 
9verspread  her  face. 

*'  Do  you  really  not  guess?  And  they  talk  of  the  maternal 
instinct — those  others.  Carry  your  thoughts  back,  my  Adelia. 
They  are  a  little  confused  by  this  time,  1  fear.  Carry  your 
thoughts  back  to  the  night  of  the  ball.  Think  of  a  diamond 
bracelet;  think  who  that  young  lady  most  resembles;  think  of 
what  she  told  madame — *  That  bracelet  had  been  given  to 
Captain  Dandin,  by  her  mother,  eight  years  before.'  Think 
of  it,  clever  Adelia,  and  exert  your  wits." 

She  uttered  a  second  cry — came  a  step  nearer  to  him. 

"  Man — man!"  she  exclaimed,  **  tell  me  the  truth.  Is  she 
my  daughter?" 

*'  At  last!"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  laugh,  "  my  own  Adelia 
knows  all.  The  girl  you  call  Valencia  Dandin  is  the  child  you 
deserted  in  the  backwoods  of  New  Jersey,  nineteen  years  ago— 
is  your  child  and  Gerald  Rosslyn's." 


i\ 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FOR  THE  THIRD  TIME. 

Two  hours  after  Captain  Dandin  and  his  victim  parted, 
that  sunny  September  morning,  Miss  Eudora  Varneck  opened 
her  chamber  door  and  descended  to  luncheon. 

Very,  very  pale,  her  sweet  young  face  set  in  hopeless  sad- 
ness very  mournful  to  see,  Eudora  appeared  among  them. 

She  had  dressed  herself  with  scrupulous  care.  The  bright 
auburn  ringlets  were  freshly  perfumed  and  curled.  But,  for 
all  that,  she  looked  like  some  wan  spirit  of  the  moonlight  as 
she  glided  in  their  midst. 

**  I  have  promised,  and  I  will  keep  my  word,"  she  thought^ 
mournfully,  as  she  made  that  tasteful  toilet.  '*  Grandmam- 
ma shall  not  be  disappointed.  My  life  will  not  be  very  long. 
Let  me  try  and  make  those  who  love  me  happy  while  it  lasts. " 

The  family  circle  was  complete  this  time.  Even  the  nose- 
less captain  and  his  tortured  victim  were  present. 

The  captain's  Mephistopheles  smile  was  brighter  than  ever 
in  this  hour  of  his  triumph,  and  his  glib  tongue  ran  unceas- 
ingly. 

The  woman  who  called  herself  Eleanor  Varneck  sat  very 
still  and  calm,  outwardly,  and  the  rouge  she  wore  hid  some- 
what the  ghastly  hue  of  hsr  face;  but  no  rouge  that  ever  red- 
dened the  human  face  could  alter  the  dumb  despair  that 
looked  at  you  out  of  those  haggard  black  eyes. 

Gilbert  Varneck  watched  Iwr  with  a  darkly  troubled  face, 


*♦ 


^'', 
f' 


^22 


THE    HEIBE8S    OF    GLEN    QOWEB. 


li 


and  his  mother  was  ominously  silent  and  stern.  She  saw  it' 
with  a  painless,  dull  apathy  that  was  the  very  depth  of  de 
spair.  What  did  it  matter  now?  Her  doom  had  come.  This 
was  only  part  of  it.  Very  soon  they  would  know  what  a  mis- 
erable, guilty  wretch  their  house  held — very  soon  they  would 
turn  with  horror  from  the  human  viper  they  had  cherished  so 
long. 

Lord  Annesley  rose  at  Eudoru's  entrance  and  placed  a  seal 
for  her  by  liis  side,  with  a  grave,  respectful  bow.  Every  one- 
knew  how  matters  stood  between  them  by  this  time,  but  there 
was  very  little  of  lover-like  rapture  in  his  quiet  face,  very 
little  of  virginal  blushing  timidity  in  hers.  Her  heart  was 
far  too  sore,  but  the  blue  eyes  looked  up  for  an  instant  into 
his  with  a  glance  unutterably  tender  and  sweet. 

**  I  do  not  love  you,"  that  look  said,  '*  but  I  will  make  you 
happy  if  I  can. " 

They  were  vej|^  silent — ominously  silent.  The  shadow  of 
what  was  coming  so  fast  lay  upon  them  all. 

Captain  Dandin  was  the  only  one  who  talked;  but  no  one 
listened  to  Captain  Dandin.  Eleanor  Varneck  looked  ear- 
nestly into  the  two  girlish  faces  before  her,  and  knew  that 
her  enemy  had  spoken  the  truth. 

Eudora  was  not  her  child — some  inward  prescience  had  told 
her  so  from  the  first.  This  dark  Valencia  bore  Gerald  Ross- 
lyn's  lineaments,  softened  and  beautified.  This  tall,  dark  girl, 
with  the  proud,  still  face  and  luminous  black  eyes,  was  her 
forsaken  child — the  child  of  the  man  whom  she  had  mur- 
dered. 

*'*  Mon  Dieu!'*  the  captain  cried,  '*how  you  all  sit  like 
mutes  at  a  funeral — so  solemn,  so  sad!  What  is  it?  My  col- 
onel, is  it  indigestion,  or  the  weather,  or  what?  Even  Dan- 
dm  will  not  be  able  to  hold  out  much  longer,  if  this  chronic 
^loom  sets  in." 

The  colonel  made  some  impatient  reply,  and  rose.  The 
others  followed  his  example,  and  dispersed  about  the  house. 

Eudora  and  Valencia  went  out  on  the  veranda,  and  Lord 
Annesley  followed  them. 

**  Who  is  for  the  city?"  he  said.  **  Eudora,  you  are  whiter 
than  your  dress.     A  drive  will  do  you  good.     Oome.^' 

She  sighed  and  shrunk  from  him  a  little,  but  she  would  not 
refuse. 

**  Thank  you,  my  lord.  I  shall  like  the  drive,  if —  Valencia, 
you  will  come,  too?" 

*'  If  you  wish  it." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  have  some  shopping  to  do,  and  the  day  is 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    OOWFR. 


22Z 


law  it' 

)f  de 
This 
mis- 

Iwoultl 
lied  80 

|a  seal 

7  OIK' 

there 

If  very 

t  was 

t  into 


ear- 
that 


;  a 


lovely.  Let  us  go  and  dress  at  once.  My  lord,  we  will  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour." 

**  1  will  await  you,  then,  with  the  pony-carriage." 

The  girls  left  the  veranda  and  ascended  to  their  rooms. 
Neither  spoke  by  the  way.  Eudora  was  glad  of  the  drive,  so 
that  it  was  not  to  be  a  tete-a-tefe  one  with  her  accepted  lover. 
A.S  for  Valencia— but  she  had  inherited  some  of  the  captain's 
impassiveness — her  thoughts  were  not  to  be  read  in  hor  face. 

On  the  upper  landing  she  stopped  Eudora  suddenly,  and 
took  her  impulsively  in  her  arms. 

*'  1  said  nothing  down-etairs,  but  I  know  all.  My  darling, 
you  will  love  him  soon,  and  will  be  very  happy,  lou  have 
Valencia's  best  wishes." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  kissed  the  pale,  upturned  face,  turned 
abruptly,  and  vanished  into  her  own  room.  Eudora  looked 
after  her  a  moment  with  those  sad,  sweet  eyes. 

**  I  will  never  love  him  as  you  do,"  she  thought;  **  1  will 
never  suit  him  half  as  well.     But  1  will  do  my  best. " 

The  pony-carriage,  with  his  lordship  for  driver,  was  in  wait- 
ing at  the  front  door  when  the  young  ladies  descended.  Eu- 
dora sat  beside  her  lover,  but  neither  spoke  of  what  had 
passed.  It  was  scarcely  likely,  with  Miss  Dandiu  so  near 
them.  It  was  a  very  pleasant  drive  along  the  dusty  high- 
road, tree-shaded  most  of  the  way,  but  a  very  silent  one. 
They  were  at  cross-purposes,  those  three,  and  they  knew  it. 

**  Have  you  anything  to  purchase,  Valencia?"  Eudora  asked 
as  they  rattled  into  the  city. 

**Only  some  stationery,"  Valencia  said,  *' and  here  is  a 
store  now.     My  lord,  I  will  alight,  if  you  please. " 

He  drew  up  the  carriage  and  assisted  the  captain's  daughter 
to  descend.  As  he  was  about  to  re-enter,  Eudora  spoke  sud- 
denly: 

"  My  lord,  pray  do  me  the  favor  to  step  in  and  purchase  the 
latest  magazines.  I  suppose  I  am  lazy,  but  I  really  don't 
want  the  trouble  of  getting  out." 

He  smiled  a  little  as  he  gave  her  the  reins.  He  understood 
her  perfectly.  It  was  not  laziness,  but  the  dread  of  being 
alone  with  him. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  can  hold  the  ponies?  Remember, 
they  are  but  half-tamed  things  at  best,  and  be  careful." 

He  turned  and  went  after  Miss  Dandin  into  the  store.  Eu- 
dora took  the  reins  carelessly  enough,  and  held  them  loosely; 
ftut  an  instant  aft«r,  with  a  frightened  cry,  she  grasped  them 
tight.  With  the  whoop  of  Sioux  Indians,  there  tore  round 
the  corner  a  yelling  mob  of  boys,  preceding  the  approach  of  a 


:i' 


^[ '  n 


224: 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


steam  fire-engino.  The  first  yell  was  enough  for  the  ponies. 
With  a  wild  snort  of  terror,  they  jerked  the  reins  out  of  the 
fragile  hands  that  held  them,  and  tore  down  the  street  like 
creatures  gone  mad. 

The  mob  of  boys  left  the  steam-ongino  at  once  to  follow  the 
new  excitement.  Yells  of  '*  Stop  'em — stop  'em!"  rang  on 
all  sides;  but  no  one  tried  to  stop  them.  The  ponies  were  oH 
like  the  wind — literally  flying  through  thronged  streets,  cleur- 
iug  a  passage  wherever  they  went.  One  look  had  been  enough 
for  Eudora;  then  she  sat  perfectly  still — stunned  with  terror. 
The  phaeton  must  soon  be  dashed  to  pieces,  and  she  with  it. 
And  she  had  thought  only  an  hour  ago  that  she  wanted  to  die. 

The  ponies  dashed  round  the  corner  ot  Lexington  Street, 
and  were  half-way  down  before  a  savior  appeared.  A  young 
man  standing  on  the  steps  of  a  handsome  residence,  leisurely 
drawing  on  his  gloves,  saw  the  furious  approach,  and  leaped 
down  with  one  impetuous  spring  directly  before  them.  An 
instant  after  he  had  grasped  the  reins,  with  the  strength  of  a 
young  giant,  shouting  lustily  for  help.  It  was  an  act  of  des- 
pb/-ate  daring.  The  infuriated  animals  tried  to  trample  him 
down,  but  help  came  instantly.  A  dozen  hands  grasped  their 
heads.  The  young  hero  released  his  hold  and  turned  to  the 
lady.     She  was  sitting  erect,  white  as  marble,  and  as  still. 

**  You  are  safe,  madame,'*  he  said.  **  You  had  better 
alight  and  come  in  until  these  rampant  brutes  are  pacified." 

He  stopped  at  the  last  word — thunder-struck.  But  the 
lady,  with  a  wild  cry,  rose  up  and  held  out  both  her  arms. 

*'  Launcelot!"  she  cried;  **  Launcelot!    Launcelot!" 

**  Catch  her!"  yelled  a  voice.     *'  She's  a-fainting." 

He  darted  forward  in  time  to  proven*^  her  falling.  In  a 
twinkling  she  was  out  of  the  carriage,  clatiped  close  in  his 
arms. 

"  Out  of  my  way!"  he  cried,  in  the  voice  of  a  stentor;  and 
the  mob  cleared  a  passage  for  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

He  bore  his  burden  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house. 

Mr? .  Lauriston,  pale  and  startled,  met  them  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

"  Have  you  saved  her,  Launcelot?  Is  she  hurt?  Who  is 
it?" 

'*  Look  and  see." 

He  laid  her  down  upon  a  sofa. 

*'  Fetch  me  cold  water,  mother,  and  sal  volatile,  and  leave 
me  to  bring  her  to. " 
Mrs.  Lauriston  obeyed.     She  saw  at  a  glance  who  it  wae^ 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    00 WEE. 


2)35 


r 


ponieg. 
|fc  of  the 
reet  like 

|lIow  the 
•ang  on 
'were  oS. 
I,  clear- 
enough 
terror, 
with  it. 
to  die. 
Street, 
I  young 
eiaurely 
leaped 
11.     An 
th  of  a 
of  des- 
ple  him 
ed  their 
d  to  the 
Jtill. 

better 
ified.'' 
But  the 


:•     In  a 
in  his 

3r;  and 


thresh- 
Who  IS 


i  leave 
it  wa» 


and  the  instant  the  eyelids  fluttered  and  lifted,  she  hastily  re 
treated  from  the  room. 

'•  They  will  make  it  up,"  she  thought.  **  Surely  the  hand 
of  Fate  is  in  this.'* 

The  blue  eyes  opened,  and  rested  in  that  lirst  glance  upon 
the  face  they  loved  best  on  earth. 

*'  Launcelot!"  she  cried.    **  Then  it  w&s  not  a  dream.    For 
the  third  time  you  have  saved  my  life. " 
'     But  he  drew  back  from  her — decidedly  drew  back — and 
itood  regarding  her  with  a  cold,  stern  face. 

**  I  have  had  that  happiness,  Miss  Varneck.  You  are  not 
in  the  least  injured,  i  trust?" 

She  sat  up,  looking  at  him,  with  a  pale,  piteous  face. 

**  1  thought  you  were  dead,"  she  said,  in  a  slow,  bewildered 
sort  of  way.  **  Oh,  Launcelot,  my  heart  has  been  nearly 
broken!    I  thought  you  were  dead. ' 

*'  Indeed  r 

Oh!  the  inflexible  frigidity  of  that  indeed  ! 

**  Then  you  have  been  misinformed.  Miss  Varneck.  I  am 
very  much  alive,  as  you  may  see.  The  human  anatomy  is  a 
tougher  affair  than  even  I  thought,  since  being  jilted  in  cold 
blood  does  not  kill.  1  can  eat,  drink — yes,  and  be  merry 
occasionally — although  1  have  been  fooled  in  the  past  by  a 
pretty  face  and  siren  smile.  I  can  learn  that  Miss  Eudora 
Varneck  is  shortly  to  become  my  Lady  Annesley,  and  live." 

"  Spare  me,  Launcelot!"  She  covered  her  poor  face  with 
both  hands  to  hide  her  falling  tears.  **  You  don't  know  what 
1  have  suffered. " 

"No.'*  Then  even  prospective  countesses  do  suffer.  I 
thought  it  was  only  poor  fools  liice  myself,  who  madly  staked 
their  all  on  one  throw  and  lost,  who  suffered.  Mad  dupes^ 
you  know.  Miss  Varneck,  who  presumed  to  lift  their  eyes  to 
an  heiress,  and  got  properly  snubbed  for  their  pains.  Why^ 
you  don't  even  know  half  the  extent  of  my  folly  and  pre- 
sumption. I  had  the  hardihood  th<n  other  night — the  night  of 
the  great  ball — to  steal  like  a  thief  Around  your  stately  home, 
at  midnight,  in  the  infatuated  hope  of  catching  one  glimpse 
of  you.  And  verily  I  had  my  reward;  for,  standing  under  the 
veranda,  I  saw  you  come  out  with  Lord  Annesley,  and  heard 
his  tender  ueclaration.  Yes,  Miss  Varneck,  I  was  mad 
enough,  and  besotted  enough,  and  mean  enough,  to  play  the 
eave^ropper.  I  tell  you,  you  see,  ^.hat  you  may  despise  the 
plebeian  doctor  as  he  deserves." 

She  did  not  speak;  she  oould  not.  She  sunk  down  on  thft 
M>fa>  oonTolsire  sobs  her  only  answer. 

8 


«    • 


ii 


i\ 


2:^6 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEK. 


!  ■  H 


Tho  sight  of  her  distross  half  maddened  him,  but  stUl  the 
frantio  young  lover  ran  on; 

**  And  now.  Miss  Varneck,  as  this  is  in  all  likelihood  the 
lait  time  wo  will  ever  meet,  permit  me  to  oiler  my  congratu- 
lations beforehund.  May  you  be  as  happy  as  yoi:  deserve  to 
be.  A  coronet  and  a  title,  no  doubt,  are  the  HummiL  of  earth- 
ly felicity.  Their  glory  and  splendor  will  keep  out  all 
thoughts  of  the  infatuated  idiot  you  have  nearly  driven  mad. 
Farewell,  Miss  Varneck.  I  see  his  lordship  approaching.  1 
leave  him  to  dry  your  tears  and  console  you  Cor  your  fright." 

He  turned  to  go.     Hhe  started  up. 

**  Launcelot — oh,  LauncelotI"  she  cried. 

But  the  liery  young  madman  was  gone  already,  and  Lord 
Annesley's  voice  sounded  in  the  passage.  A  second  later,  and 
he  and  Valencia  rushed  into  the  room. 

**  Saved!"  Miss  Dandin  cried.  "  Oh,  my  darling,  thank 
God!" 

Lord  Annesley  bent  above  her,  white  to  the  very  lips. 

*'  Can  you  forgive  me  for  leaving  you  alone?"  he  said.  *'  1 
can  never  forgive  myself." 

But  she  turned  from  them  both  with  a  bitter,  heart-broken 
cry. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me!"  she  burst  out,  wildly.  **  I  feel  as 
though  1  were  going  mad.     Ta^^e  me  home — take  me  home!" 

He  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  half  led  her  out  of  the 
house. 

Her  tears  had  ceased;  her  face  was  deathly  pale;  her  eyes 
wild  and  dilated. 

**  It  is  the  fright,"  they  both  thought;  **  and  the  poor 
child  is  so  hopelessly  timid." 

'*  I  would  like  to  see  and  thank  the  gentleman  who  saved 
your  life,"  Lord  Annesley  said,  hesitatingly.  *'  If  you  will 
stop  here  one  instant  with  Miss  Dandin — " 

But  she  interrupted  him  with  a  second  cry.  Her  eyes 
turned  upon  him,  wild  and  wide. 

"  You!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  horror.  *'  Not  for  ten 
thousand  worlds!  Take  me  home,  my  lord!  oh,  take  me 
home!" 

He  placed  her  in  the  carriage  without  another  word,  took 
his  seat  beside  her,  and  drove  off.  Valencia  sat  behind  them. 
The  ponies  were  quiet  enough  now.  But  all  through  the  long 
drive  not  a  word  waa  spoken.  'i 

Eudora  sat  with  death-white  face  and  burning  eyes^  looking 
straight  into  vacancy,  like  a  creature  distraught.  Lord  An- 
nesley looked  at  her  once  or  twice  in  mute  consternation. 


THE    HDIUESS    OP    OLRN    UOVVER. 


2'4i 


fiJl  the 

tho 
Igrafcu. 
l>rvo  to 
learth- 
|ut  all 
mad. 

\}g'     1 
i;?ht.  *' 


-Htranco!"  ho  thought.  **  Can  her  fright  have  turned 
her  brain?  ' 

It  was  nearly  ihirk  when  they  reached  tho  house.  Eudora 
ran  up  the  steps  in  the  same  wild  way,  without  waiting  for 
either.     In  the  entrance  hall  she  encountered  grundmamma. 

*'  Where  is  j)apa?'*  she  cried,  breathlessly — **  where  is  papa? 
I  must  see  papa  at  once." 

**  My  dear  child — " 

**  Where  is  papa?"  she  exclaimed,  shrilly.  *'  Tell  me, 
grandmamma.     I  must  see  him — I  must  tell  him  all!" 


Lord 
5r,  and 

thank 


eyes 


-%, 


'|. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  HOUR  OP  DOOM. 

The  library  door  opened  as  she  spoke,  and  Colonel  Varneck 
looked  out 

*'  Who  calls?*'  he  said.     '*  You,  Eudora?    Come  inl" 

She  ran  in,  in  the  same  wild  wuy,  and  closed  the  door. 
Grandmamma  looked  at  the  other  two  in  mute  inquiry. 

**  Her  fright  seems  to  have  driven  her  wild,"  observed  his 
lordship.  *'  I  am  very  sorry,  madame,  but  your  grand- 
daughter has  had  a  narrow  escape  for  her  life." 

Madame  uttered  an  ejaculation.  Captain  Dandin,  entering 
at  the  instant,  paused  to  listen.  Valencia  turned  and  went 
up  to  her  room. 

*'  We  left  her  alone  in  the  phaeton  for  a  moment,"  his 
lordship  explained,  "  while  we  entered  a  bookseller's — Misa 
Dandin  and  I.  The  ponies  took  fright  all  at  once,  and  sped 
away  like  a  couple  of  whirlwinds.  What  would  have  become 
of  Eudora,  Heaven  knows,  had  not  a  voung  man  headed  the 
horses,  and  saved  her  nearly  at  the  rist  of  his  life.  He  took 
her  into  his  house  af terv/ard  and  restored  her  to  consciousness, 
for  she  very  naturally  had  fain  tec  Since  then  she  has  been 
as  you  have  just  seen  her — like  a  j^erson  out  of  herself." 

*'  Who  was  the  heroic  young  man  who  saved  her?"  asked 
grandmamma. 

**  Hifi  name  is  Lauriston — Doctor  Lauriston.  I  regret  I  had 
no  opportunity  of  seeing  and  thanking  him." 

There  was  a  simultaneous  exclamation  from  madame  and 
the  captain. 

'*  Mon  Dieul"  ejaculated  the  latter;  '*  Launcelot  again! 
And  for  the  third  time!  Who  says  the  finger  of  Destiny  is  not 
in  this?" 

'*  Do  yon  really  mean  to  say,  Captain  Dandin^"  madame 


T         ■ 


1    i 


I 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEB. 


asked^  eagerlT,  **  that  this  is  the  same  noble  youth  who  twice 
before  saved  Eudora's  life?" 

* '  1  do,  madame.  He  and  his  mother,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  are  in  Baltimore.  I  can  understand  Miss  Var- 
neck's  agitation  now.  It  is  not  the  fright,  my  lord;  it  is  the 
sight  of  this  young  man.  It  was  he  she  saw  in  the  garden  on 
the  night  of  the  ball,  and  took  for  a  ghost.  She  could  not 
believe  it  was  her  old  friend  in  the  flesh,  and  she  set  it  down 
at  once  as  a  spook.'' 

**  And  what  on  earth/'  asked  Mme.  Varneck,  **  could  bring 
this  young  man  into  the  garden  at  midnight?'* 

Captain  Dandin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**  What  makes  fools  of  the  wisest  of  men?  Love  I  *  Love 
rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove ' — and  so  forth.  This 
poor  young  doctor  is  madly  in  love  with  Miss  Euuora, 
madame,  and,  unless  I  greatly  mistake,  she  is  quite  as  deeply 
in  love  with  him.  Y  jur  pardon,  my  lord!  I  see  that  look  of 
haughty  amaze.  But  what  I  state  is  an  accomplished  fact. 
You  see,  he  is  a  hero — a  handsome  one.  He  has  saved  her 
life  three  times,  at  the  risk  of  his  own.  Where  is  the  female 
heart  could  withstand  that?  And  then,  Miss  Varneck  is  a 
confirmed  hero-worshiper. " 

Before  either  of  his  hearers  could  reply,  the  library  door  re- 
oi>ened  and  the  colonel  strode  out. 

*'  This  is  a  most  extraordinary  afl;airl"  he  said.  "  Then 
the  persons  I  am  in  search  of  are  found.  I  am  going  to  the 
city  at  once  uO  see  this  Doctor  Lauriston  and  his  mother." 

But  Captain  Dandin  stepped  forward  and  laid  a  heavy  hand 
on  the  colonel's  shoulder. 

**  One  moment,  my  colonel,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  Extra- 
ordinary as  what  you  have  just  heard  may  appear,  I  have 
something  concerning  those  two  persons  still  more  extraordi- 
nary to  relate.  You  must  hear  me  before  you  see  them.  But 
I  will  fetch  Mrs.  Lauriston  hither.    Your  pardon  an  instant." 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book,  scrawled  a  few  lines  in  pencil, 
and  handed  it  to  the  surprised  officer. 

**  Read  it,  my  colonel,"  he  said;  **  then  ask  his  lordship  to 
do  us  all  a  favor.  The  ponies  still  stand  yonder;  they  are  not 
half  blown.  Let  him  drive  to  the  city,  give  this  scrawl  to 
Mrs.  Lauriston,  and  bring  her  back  here." 

Colonel  Varneck  read  it  in  mute  bewilderment  It  read 
thus: 


"  Dear  Mrs.  Lauriston, — I  have  astounding  news  for  you 
-great  news— glorious  news!    Don't  faint    The  husband  of 


THE    HEIREbS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


229 


twice 

5rtain 

Var- 

is  the 

ien  on 

|ld  not 

down 

bring 


*  Love 
This 
Uciora, 
deeply 
ookof 
fact. 
Bd  her 
female 
k  is  a 

X)r  re- 

'Then 
to  the 

'  hand 

Sxtra- 
have 

aofdi- 
But 

ant/' 

encil, 

lip  to 
e  not 
wl  to 

read 


•yon 
id  of 


yonr  youth,  lost  for  upward  of  twenty-one  years,  is  found — is 
here!  Come  back  with  the  bearer  to  Glen  Gower.  There  he 
awaits  you.     Faithfully,  Jules  Dan  din/' 

**  What  does  this  mean?"  asked  the  mystified  colonel. 

"  You  shall  learn.  *  Thereby  hangs  a  tale.'  Will  his  lord- 
ship take  the  trouble  to  deliver  this  note?  If  not,  we  must 
dispatch  a  servant.  ** 

"  I  am  quite  ready,*'  said  Lord  Annesley,  "  if  to  return  to 
Baltimore  and  hand  that  note  to  Mrs.  Lauriston  is  all  you 
wish." 

**  And  to  bring  her  back.  That  is  all.  Go  at  once,  my 
lord,  and  lose  no  time.  For  you,  my  colonel — and  you, 
madame — if  you  will  step  into  the  drawing-room,  you  shall 
hear  the  extraordinary  story  1  have  to  tell." 

**  Eleanor  is  in  the  drawing-room,"  interposed  madame. 
"  Had  you  not  better  select  another  apartment,  Captain  Dan- 
din?" 

**  With  your  kind  permission — no.  It  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  the — the  person  of  whom  you  speak  should  bo 
present.     Lead  on,  madame — we  follow." 

Madame  obeyed.  Captain  Dandin  was  master  of  the  situ- 
ation, and  spoke  with  a  quiet  dignity  altogether  new  in  their 
experience  of  him.  She  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  the 
gentlemen  followed. 

It  was  deeply  dusk  in  the  long  apartment,  but  madame 
3ghted  the  chandelier  at  once  and  flooded  it  with  light. 

By  that  sudden  glow  they  beheld  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife 
crouching  on  a  sofa — literally  crouching — her  face  hidden  in 
her  hands,  her  whole  attitude  one  of  most  miserable,  abject 
despair. 

**  Look  up,  Adelia  Lyon!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  in  ring- 
ing tones  of  command.  **  The  hour  of  your  downfall  has 
some!" 

She  lifted  up  her  face — ^her  white,  wretched  face — and 
iooked  at  them  as  a  stag  looks  at  its  slayer  with  the  knife  at 
is  throat. 

**  Look  at  her,  Colonel  Varneck!"  Captain  Dandin  said, 
solemnly,  pointing  at  the  haggard  creature — *'  look  at  that 
cowering,  guilty  wretch!  Look  at  her  well,  and  tell  me  il 
that  is  thfc  innocent  girl  you  wooed  and  wedded  twenty-one 
years  ago?" 

**  For  God's  sake,  Dandin!"  Colonel  Varneck  was  just  able 
to  gasp— -for  miidame,  she  was  speechless — *'  what  does  this 
mean?'* 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    60WER, 


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**  It  means  that  the  hour  of  that  most  miserable,  most  guilty 
woman  s  downfall  has  comd!  Wretch!  murderess!  I  de- 
nounce you!  Gilbert  Varneck,  she  is  no  wife  of  yours — she 
never  has  been — since  the  wife  you  wooed  and  wedded  long 
ago  still  lives!" 

**  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  who,  then,  is  she?"  the  colonel 
cried. 

**  The  abandoned  mistress  of  Gerald  Kosslyn,  and  his  mur- 
deress!" 

The  silence  of  death  fell.  Neither  son  nor  mother  could 
speak,  'i'liey  stood  white  with  horror.  Colonel  Varneck 
staggered  back  a  pace,  a  deadly  feeling  of  sickness  coming 
over  him. 

**  Look  in  her  face,"  pursued  the  merciless  captain,  **  and 
see  if  I  do  not  speak  the  truth.  Is  not  her  guilt  and  her 
shame  plainly  written  there?" 

Truly  they  were.  She  cowered  before  them,  as  stricken 
and  miserable  an  objeci  as  ever  the  light  shone  on. 

**  From  first  to  last  she  has  duped  you,"  said  the  accuser — 
**  from  first  to  laLt  she  has  been  false  and  treacherous  to  the 
core  of  her  black,  bad  heart!  The  girl  she  has  palmed  oft 
upon  you  for  nearly  nine  years  as  your  daughter  is  no  child  of 
yours.  Her  child  still  lives — the  child  of  the  man  she  foully 
murdered — the  offspring  of  Gerald  Rosslyn!" 

Colonel  Varneck  sunk  into  a  seat.  He  was  livid  to  the  very 
lips  with  horror. 

'*  And  my  wife— my  child?"  tie  was  barely  able  to  gasp. 

"  Still  live,  and  are  well.  It  is  Mrs.  Lauriston  and  her 
son." 

Another  dead  pause.  The  guilty  woman,  with  one  low  wail 
of  unutterable  anguish  and  despair,  covered  her  face  again 
and  cowered  down. 

'*  Let  me  tell  my  story  consistently,  if  I  can,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, calmly.  **  Madame,  pray  be  seated.  You  don't  look  fit 
to  stand.  My  story.  Colonel  Varneck,  carries  me  back  to  the 
year  before  you  married  Eleanor  Lyon.  You  never  knew  she 
had  a  sister — a  sister  so  like  her  that  you  could  scarcely  have 
told  them  apart — but  so  it  was.  You  never  knew  it;  for  this 
sister  had  disgraced  the  family,  and  her  name  was  dropped 
from  among  them.  She  had  eloped  with  Gerald  Kosslyn. 
She  had  liv^  with  him  for  nearly  three  years  when  her  child 
was  born.  It  was  the  year  after  the  birth  of  your  son.  You 
were  away,  out  of  the  country.  Gerald  Rosslyn  deserted  her. 
She  deserted  her  new-born  infant,  followed  him,  hunted  him 
«lown,  and  shot  him  by  his  bride's  side  on  his  wedding-night 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    QOWER. 


231 


fa — she 
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I  have  told  you  the  story  before.  I  only  concealed  the  name 
of  his  murderess.  There  she  crouches  now — Adelia  Lyon  I 
She  escaped.  She  was  a  clever  woman  in  her  way,  and  she 
baflQed  justice.  She  became  a  servant — a  seamstress— a  gov- 
erness. When  you  had  been  five  years  absent,  your  forsaken 
wife  found  out,  by  chance,  her  sister's  address.  She  was  lying 
ill  in  a  city  hospital  at  the  time — given  over  for  death.  Her 
boy  was  in  a  charitable  asylum.  In  that  hour  of  her  extrem- 
ity she  wrote  her  wicked  sister  a  letter,  telling  Ker  of  her  ap- 
proaching end — of  her  poor  forsaken  little  boy — begging  her 
to  be  a  mother  to  him  when  she  was  gone. 

"  She  inclosed  her  marriage  certificate,  her  ring,  your  let- 
ters, your  pictures.  She  told  Adelia  all  she  knew  of  you. 
Adelia  Lyon  isceived  that  letter,  but  she  never  replied.  She 
never  exerted  herself  in  the  slightest  degree  to  obey  her  dying 
sister.  Her  heart  was  harder  than  stone — harder  than  iron. 
She  took  it  for  granted  her  sister  died,  and  the  child  was  lost 
forever  among  the  thousands  of  other  orphan  children,  and 
she  thought  no  more  about  them  until  your  mother's  adver- 
tisement, four  years  later,  for  her  lost  son's  wife  and  child, 
appeared. 

"  That  set  her  thinking — that  set  her  plotting.  I  told  you 
she  was  a  clever  woman.  She  set  her  clever  wits  at  work,  and 
concocted  her  plot.  Her  sister  was  dead — her  child  was  lost 
What  was  to  hinder  her,  who  resembled  that  dead  sister  so 
closely,  from  passing  herself  oii  upon  your  mother  as  your  for- 
saken wife — her  own  brat  as  your  child?  How  sLo  carried  out 
that  plot  you  know.  She  came  here  with  her  little  girl.  You 
suddenly  appeared  upon  the  scene.  Even  you  she  duped  to 
your  face.  She  made  you  marry  her.  She  was  determined 
to  have  a  legal  right  to  her  dignity.  For  over  eight  years  she 
has  carried  out  her  deception.  She  has  fooled  you  all  to  your 
faces I 

**  But  1  knew  her  from  the  first.  I,  in  my  turn,  had  duped 
her.  Gterald  Rosslyn  was  my  friend.  I  went  to  the  place 
where  his  infant  daughter  had  been  deserted  at  its  birth  by  ib 
most  heartless  mother,  and  1  took  it  with  me,  for  his  sake,  to 
Spain — adopted  it  as  my  own.  I  told  the  old  woman  in 
whose  cottage  I  found  it,  if  the  mother  ever  came,  to  palm  off 
some  other  child  sufficiently  alike  to  deceive  her.  1  paid  her 
well,  and  she  obeyed. 

"  When,  nine  years  after,  Adelia  Lyon  came  for  her  for- 
saken offspring,  old  Granny  Croak  gave  her  her  own  grand- 
daughter, little  Dora  Dalton,  and  Adelia  Lyon  took  her  and 
knew  no  better. 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER, 


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Colonel  Varneck,  the  girl  you  think  your  daughter  is 
Dora  Dalton;  her  child  is  known  to  you  as  Valencia  Dandin; 
and  Launoelot  Lauriston,  the  young  doctor,  is  your  lawful 
son." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

**  Go  on!"  Colonel  Varneck  said,  in  a  hollow,  unnatural 
voice. 

His  mother  could  not  speak.  Adelia  Lyon,  cowering  in  her 
dumb  despair,  made  no  effort  to  stir. 

**  I  came  here  with  you,  my  colonel,  nine  years  ago,  and  I 
saw  yonder  woman.  1  knew  her  at  once,  I  had  seen  the  sis- 
ters. 1  knew  them  apart.  Besides,  there  was  a  birth-mark 
— three  little  black  moles — on  this  sister's  left  wrist,  and  not 
on  your  wife's.  I  took  hold  of  her  arm — 1  saw  those  moles. 
We  looked  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  she  saw  that  I  knew  her 
secret. 

**  From  that  minute  she  was  completely  in  my  power.  The 
five  thousand  dollars  she  extorted  from  you  she  gave  to  me. 
The  family  diamonds,  presented  to  her  by  your  mother,  she 
gave  me,  likewise,  with  her  own  hands.  Every  year  since  she 
has  paid  me  a  stipulated  sum  to  keep  her  secret,  and  I  have 
kept  it,  Te-night  I  tell  you  all.  A  little  later,  and  you  would 
have  found  it  out  for  yourself — a  little  late.,  and  you  would 
have  ridden  to  Baltimore  and  beheld  your  wife  and  son.  His 
paternity  is  written  in  his  face.  Your  wife  you  could  not  fail 
to  recognize  instantly,  or  she  you.  I  satisfy  my  revenge  on 
that  woman  there,  and  tell  you  myself. 

**  And  now  to  finish.  By  the  merest  chance,  when  I  left 
here,  nine  years  ago,  I  encountered  your  wife  and  son.  I 
found  them  poor.  I  heard  their  story;  I  helped  them. 
Eleanor  Lauriston  did  not  die  in  the  hospital.  She  recovered; 
she  reclaimed  her  son;  she  struggled  with  him  for  her  daily 
bread.  I  took  them  to  Silver  Shore;  I  established  her  in  busi- 
ness. 1  educated  the  boy;  1  made  him  a  doctor.  You  know 
how  he  met  the  young  lady  you  thought  your  daughter. 
Thrice  he  has  saved  her  life.     He  loves  her;  she  loves  him. 

**  Mother  and  son  are  in  Baltimore,  In  two  or  three  hours 
she  will  be  here — your  wife,  Gilbert  Varneck,  whom  you  have 
not  seen  for  twenty  years.  There  lies  a  murderess  who  shall 
meet  her  doom !    My  story  is  told.  ' 

He  finished  abruptly,  his  face  pale,  his  eyes  gleaming  with 
demoniac  hate  and  triumph,  and  stood  with  folded  arms. 

Gilbert  Varneck  rose  and  strode  over  to  the  cowering  creat- 
ure. 


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THE    HEIRESa    OF    OLEN    60WER. 


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*^  Is  this  true?"  he  hoarBely  asked.  **  By  the  memory  ol 
all  that  has  passed  and  gone;  I  conjure  yon  to  speak!" 

She  lifted  her  head.  She  fell  down  on  her  knees  and  kissed 
his  feet. 

**  It  is  trae.  I  am  the  guilty  wretch  he  says!  But,  oh,  my 
love,  my  lovel  I  have  worshiped  you!" 

''  Else!"  he  said,  in  the  same  hoarse  voice,  shrinking  from 
her  touch — **  rise!  go!  I  never  want  to  look  upon  your  face 
again.  Oh,  my  God!"  he  passionately  cried;  **  1  never  loved 
you!  1  always  knew  you  were  not  my  wife!  Go — go!  I  can 
not  breathe  in  the  same  room  with  you!" 

She  staggered  to  her  feet  and  turned  away  without  a  word. 

Oh!  surely  Captain  Dandin's  revenge  was  complete! 

**  Go  to  your  room!"  he  said,  with  his  satanic  smile,  "  and 
remain  there  until  you  are  wanted.  No  attempt  to  escape, 
mistress.     Your  door  shall  bo  watched." 

She  paused  on  the  threshold. 

**  I  will  not  try  to  escape,"  she  said,  in  a  dull,  thick  voice. 
**  May  1  see  my  sister  when  she  comes?" 

**  Yes;  that  the  man  you  have  deceived  may  behold  for 
himself  how  you  have  duped  him.     Go!" 

She  went,  without  another  word,  straight  to  her  room. 
Captain  Dandin  watched  her  enter,  and  heard  her  lock  the 
door  inside.  He  called  to  one  of  the  house  servants  passing 
through  the  halL 

"  Harry,"  he  said,  "  stand  before  Mrs.  Varneck's  door,  and 
remain  there  until  1  call  you  away.  Do  not  let  her  come 
out." 

The  man  obeyed,  with  a  broad  stare  of  wonder. 

**  She  can  not  escape  by  the  window,"  the  captain  thought, 
**  without  breaking  her  neck.  She  is  quite  safe  for  the 
present" 

He  re-entered  the  drawing-room.  Mother  and  son  still  sat 
there  in  dumb  horror — waiting. 

"  In  two  hours  your  wife  will  be  here.  Colonel  Varneck," 
Captain  Dandin  said.  **  It  is  hard  to  wait,  but  we  must  wait 
tiUthen." 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

CAPTAIN  DANDIN  PAYS  THE  PENALTY, 

Mme.  Varneck  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  the  captain  for 
the  first  time,  and  spoke. 
**  You  are  a  villain,"  she  said,  slowly — **  as  black  and  base 


ft-  , 


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THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWEB. 


a  villain  as  ever  lived!  What  has  been  your  object  in  all 
this?" 

He  bowed  before  her,  his  death's-head  smile  in  full  play. 

**  1  have  told  you,  inadame.  Gerald  Rosslyn  was  my  friend; 
on  Gerald  Rosslyn's  murderess  1  swore  revenge.  And, 
madame,  Dandin  keeps  his  oath." 

*'  You  are  a  villain,"  madame  repeated — **  a  double-dyed 
traitor  and  villain!  My  sod  was  your  friend,  too;  you  pre- 
tended to  be  his.  You  broke  his  bread  and  drank  of  his  cup, 
and  for  nine  years  you  have  shamefully  deceived  him.  I  tell 
you.  Captain  Dandin,  the  wretchod  creature  you  have  hunted 
down  is  not  half  so  base,  half  so  despicable  as  you!" 

Again  he  bowed. 

"Madame  is  severe.  I  must  endure  her  displeasure  as 
best  1  may.  Gold  is  sweet — the  lady  upstairs  paid  me  well  for 
keeping  her  secret.  Revenge  is  sweeter — 1  have  my  revenge 
now.     1  must  bear  madame 's  censure  as  best  I  may." 

**  You  shall  bear  sokmething  more  than  censure,  presently," 
said  Gilbert  Varneck,  sternly.  **  You  shall  answer  for  your 
share  in  compounding  a  felony.  If  she— your  victim — suffers, 
by  the  living  Lord  of  heaven,  her  accomplice  shall  not  escape!" 

The  sallow  face  of  the  captain  paled  perceptibly,  but  still  he 
wore  his  ghastly  smile. 

"  1  will  run  the  risk;  my  share,  at  least,  is  no  hanging  mat- 
ter. I  think  my  punishment  will  be  almost  as  easy  to  bear  as 
yours,  my  lord  of  Glen  Gower,  with  all  your  ancestral  pride, 
when  your  name  and  story  are  bruited  about  in  every  penny 
journal  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. ' ' 

'*  Silence,"  thundered  the  colonel,  *'  before  1  am  tempted 
to  strike  you  down  at  my  feet!  Dog — blood-hound!  you  are 
unworthy  the  name  of  man!  Mother" — he  turned  to  her 
suddenly — **  leave  the  room  and  this  scoundrel's  presence;  the 
air  he  breathes  is  polluted." 

**  Hard  words,  my  colonel,"  raid  the  captain,  forcing  a 
laugh;  **  but,  as  the  children  say,  *  names  will  never  hurt 
me.'    I  can  survive  your  scorn,  I  dare  say." 

A  look  of  unutterable  contempt  was  Colonel  Varneck's 
answer.     He  strode  after  his  mother  from  the  room. 

**  Eudora  is  in  the  library,"  he  said;  **  you  go  to  her.  The 
poor  child  is  almost  distracted.  She  came  to  me  and  fell  at 
my  feet,  and  sobbed  and  wept  hysterically,  and  begged  me  to 
have  h<jr  set  free  from  her  engagement  with  Lord  Annesley. 
She  loves  this  young  man  Launcelot  Lauriston.  He  loves  her. 
Three  times  he  has  saved  her  life.  She  thought  he  was  dead 
when  she  coDsented  to  marry  his  lordship.     Mow  that  sho 


(4 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWEH. 


235 


all 

|y. 

Jiend; 
(And, 

[dyed 
pre- 

tell 
mfced 


knows  he  is  alive,  she  will  die  before  she  weds  him.  Her  lover 
despises  her,  she  says;  she  has  no  hope  there — she  only  wanti 
to  be  free,  and  break  her  heart  in  peace.  Go  to  her,  mother, 
and  comfort  her  if  you  can." 

*' I  will  go.  Oh!  Gilbert*' — with  a  sudden,  wild  cry — 
"  what  is  this  fearful  story  we  have  just  heard?'' 

**  The  truth,  mother.  I  feel  it;  and  she — that  wretched 
woman — admits  it.  Heaven  have  mercy  on  her  and  upon  us 
ail  I    Go;  1  will  await  the  coming  of — of  those  others  liere." 

Madame  hastened  away  to  the  library,  and  Colonel  Varneck 
paced  restlessly  up  and  down  the  hall. 

Eudora  still  lay  as  he  had  left  her,  her  poor,  pale  face  buried 
in  the  cushions,  all  wet  with  the  rain  of  tears.  She  locked  up 
piteously  as  madame  appeared. 

"  Oh,  grandmamma!  have  you  seen  him?    What  does  he 


say 


P»> 


**  Lord  Annesley?  Dear  child,  cease  crying;  all  will  be 
well.  No  one  shall  force  my  little  girl  against  her  wishes. 
His  lordship  ^will  free  you,  of  course;  and  this  other — this 
young  man  you  love  so  dearly — we  will  have  him  here.  Now 
Lt  me  take  you  to  your  room.     All  will  be  well  to-morrow." 

Eudora  suflEered  herself  to  be  led  away.  She  was  only  a 
weak,  impulsive  child,  and  Mme.  Varneck  loved  her  too  fondly 
to  outgrow  that  love  in  an  instant  by  the  discovery  she  was  not 
her  grandchild.  Come  what  might,  she  must  always  be  fond 
of  gentle  little  Eudora.  She  left  her  in  her  room,  in  charge 
of  her  maid,  with  strict  injunctions  to  undress  and  go  to  bed. 

**  All  will  be  well  to-morrow,  my  pet,"  she  repeated,  as  she 
kissed  her  good-night  and  quitted  the  chamber. 

Mme.  Varneck  turned  to  go  down-stairs — was  half-way 
down,  when  the  sound  of  rapidly  approaching  wheels  made 
her  stop.  Her  son,  in  the  hall  below,  made  a  step  forward, 
then  stood  like  a  man  spell-bound.  An  instant  later,  and  the 
great  front  door  was  flung  wide,  and  Lord  Annesley  strode  in, 
followed  by  a  woman. 

**  This  way,  madame,"  he  said.  **  Oh,  Colonel  Varneck, 
here  is  Mr.  Lauriston!" 

He  stepped  aside.  Colonel  Varneck  never  moved.  He  was 
whiter  than  the  marble  statues  gleaming  around  him.  The 
woman  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  a  shriek  such  as 
those  who  heard  might  never  forget  cleft  the  domed  hall. 

**  Launoelofc!  Launcelot!  Launcelot!"  she  cried;  and  with 
the  words  she  fell  forward  upon  his  breast. 

•*  Eleanorl"  he  said,  in  a  choking  voice — **  my  wife!" 


r 


tii 


i  t 


«  I 


%'i 


!    ■.-h 


I.   ■! 


1:' 


'f 


5:36 


THE    HEIRESS    OP    GLEN    GOWER. 


And  then  husband  and  wife,  separated  for  twenty  long 
years,  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 

For  the  otb  r  two — Lord  Annesley  stood  like  a  man  petri- 
fied; Mme.  Varneck,  with  a  gasping  cry,  caught  at  the  baluster 
for  support  She  saw  before  her  a  womtan  so  like,  yet  so  un- 
like, tne  woman  upstairs  that  her  head  reeled.  And  husband 
and  wife,  clinging  to  each  other  as  though  earth  and  all  it 
contained  could  never  sunder  them  again,  heeded  the  gazers 
i  no  more  than  the  stone  statues  around  them. 

Madame  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  trance.  Slowly 
she  descended  the  stairs  and  stood  before  them.  Lord  An- 
nesley turned  his  bewildered  face  to  her. 

''*  in  Heaven's  name,  what  does  this  mean?"  he  asked. 

*'  You  shall  hear  later,  my  lord.  This  lady  is  my  son's 
wife.     We  have  all  been  terribly  deceived,  OUbert." 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  Colonel  Varneck  looked  up. 
Eleanor  lifted  her  white,  wild  face,  too. 

"  Who  calls  my  husband  Gilbert?"  she  said.  '*  Launcelot, 
oh!  is  it  a  dream  or  a  reality?  Am  I  sane  or  mad?  What 
does  it  all  mean?" 

Before  any  one  could  reply,  the  drawing-room  door  opened 
and  the  pale,  sinister  face  of  Captain  Dandin  looked  out. 

*' So,"  he  said,  "you  have  co^ne,  Mrs.  Lauriston?  You 
have  found  your  husband?  Now,  my  colonel,  which  is  the 
wile?" 

**  Captain  Dandin,"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  **  have  you  found 
me  my  husband?  Oh,  tell  me  how  all  this  came  about?  1 
feel  as  though  I  were  losing  my  senses. " 

And  then,  with  a  thrilling  cry,  she  again  caught  and 
clasped  the  man  she  loved,  clinging  to  him  in  a  sudden 
paroxysm  of  wild  weeping. 

**  Launcelot!  Launcelot!  my  love,  my  husband!  Oh,  I 
must  be  mad!  It  can  not  be,  after  all  these  bitter,  bitter 
years.  It  is  a  wild  dream,  from  which  1  shall  awake  as  I 
have  awakened  from  so  many  others. " 

**  It  is  no  dream,  my  own  dear  wife,"  Gilbert  Varneck  an- 
swered, solemn  and  sad,  his  heart  almost  too  full  for  words; 
**  it  is  a  blessed  reality.  My  Eleanor  and  I  will  never  part 
more  until  death  divides  us.  Come  in,  and  you  shall  hear  all 
—the  dark  and  shameful  story  this  man  has  to  tell," 

He  led  her  into  the  drawing-room.  His  mother  followed. 
No  one  heeded  the  paralyzed  Lord  Annesley  in  this  supreme 
hour. 

**  Tell  your  story,  Dandin,"  the  colonel  said.  **  Tell  my 
wife  what  you  have  told  me.** 


>y 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLBN    aOWER. 


237 


long 

petri- 
iluster 
|so  un- 
isband 

all  it 
[gazers 

)lowIy 
rd  An- 


He  stood,  with  his  protecting  arm  around  her,  stern  and 
pale.  She  clung  to  him  passionately,  but  her  startled  eyes 
fcurned  upon  the  captain's  face. 

Captain  Dandin  repeated  his  story.  Gilbert  Varneck's  wife 
listened  in  dead  silence.  When  he  had  quite  finished,  she 
slowly  spoke: 

•*  And  all  these  years  you  have  deceived  me;  and.  Captain 
Dandin,  1  thought  you  were  my  friend." 

*'  He  has  deceived  us  all — basely  deceived  us!"  her  husband 
said.  *'  He  is  the  greatest  villain  unhung.  Oh,  my  love,  my 
love!  to  think  that  he  should  have  ^toou  between  us  all  these 
weary  years!" 

She  fell  upon  his  breast,  sobbing  wildly. 

**  I  thought  you  were  dead,  Launcelot — I  never  thought 
you  guilty.  I  have  never  known  one  happy  day  since  we 
parted  last  And  my  sister — my  most  wicked  sister,  most 
cruel  sister — oh!  how  could  she — how  could  she  do  it?" 

**  She  thought  you  were  dead,  Mrs.  Lauriston — I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Varneck,"  said  the  captain.  **  Let  me  do  her 
that  poor  justice.     She  thought  you  were  dead." 

**  She  asked  to  see  you,"  her  husband  said,  bending  loving- 
ly orer  her.     *'  It  shall  be  as  yoo  please,  my  own  dear  wife. 

**  I  can  not  see  her!"  Eleanor  Varneck  sobbed.  '*  She  has 
been  too  cruel — too  base.  I  can  not  see  her  or  forgive  her 
yet." 

*'  Then  you  are  never  likely  to  see  her,"  said  the  captain, 
coolly,  *'  since  »he  leaves  this  house  within  the  hour  for  a 
prison.     But  you  will  do  as  you  please. " 

She  turned  upon  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Wretch — traitor — coward!  I  will  see  her,  then!  I  will 
forgive  her!  Send  for  her,  Launcelot  Oh,  my  wretched, 
wretched  sister!" 

**  I  will  fetch  her,"  said  Captain  Dandin,  wheeling  round 
and  quitting  the  room. 

He  ascended  the  stairs. 

'*  You  may  go,  Harry,"  he  said  to  his  black  sentinel. 

He  tapped  at  the  door,  then  turned  the  handle  and  looked 
in. 

She  had  unlocked  it  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  stood  be- 
fore him,  waiting.  Ghastly  pale  she  stood  there,  her  haggard 
black  eyes  afire  with  a  dull,  deadly  gleam. 

It  might  have  warned  him — that  dull  fire,  that  ominouji 
calm;  but  he  was  infatuated — doomed — not  to  be  warned. 

*'  My  sister  has  come?"  she  asked. 

How  hollow  and  dull  her  voice  sounded. 


>4 


.V, 


* 


Ml 


m^ 


238 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


f<< 


•I  I ., ' 


**  She  has  come.  She  is  with  her  hit  band.  She  will  sae 
you.     Go  to  the  drawiug-room;  I  will  follow." 

She  went  without  a  word.  She  descended  the  stairs;  she 
opened  the  door  with  a  steady  huiid.  She  stood  before  them, 
livid  as  a  galvanized  corpse,  but  with  a  fixed,  changeless, 
stony  face. 

Captain  Dandin  entered  after  her,  and  closed  the  door. 

'*  Now,  my  colonel,*'  he  said,  his  irrepressible  vindictive- 
ness  getting  the  better  in  spite  of  him — '*  7iow,  nuidame, 
which  is  which?'* 

Clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  they  still  stood— husbanr!  and 
wife. 

The  sisters  confronted  each  other  face  to  face.  Ah!  no 
need  to  look  twice  to  know  which  was  the  true  wife  now. 

"  Adelia!'* 

Gilbert  Varneck's  wife  spoke.  She  came  out  of  the  strong 
arms  that  held  her,  with  a  great  cry,  and  approached. 

But  the  guilty  woman  held  out  both  hands  to  keep  her  off. 

**  Don't  touch  me,'*  she  said — "  don't  come  near  me.  Gil- 
bert Varneck's  spotless  wife  must  approach  no  polluted  thing. 
Eleanor,  I  have  wronged  you  beyond  reparation.  I  don't  ask 
for  forgiveness,  living  or  dead;  my  crime  has  been  too  great. 
But  great  as  has  been  my  guilt,  your  triumph  is  greater.  I 
loved  him — 1  love  him  still,  better  than  ever  you  can  love 
him.  1  have  steeped  my  soul  in  blackest  sin  for  his  sake;  1 
would  do  it  again.  But  take  him;  he  is  yours.  He  loves 
you;  me  he  never  loved.  1  have  seen  you,  and  I  wish  no 
more.  I  will  never  look  upon  your  face  again.  And  now, 
Captain  Dandin,  a  word  with  you. " 

She  turned  upon  him,  that  dull,  red  gloam  in  her  eyes,  that 
ominous  calm  in  voice  and  face. 

*'  For  nearly  nine  years  you  have  been  my  tormentor — my 
tyrant.  I  have  been  your  most  abject  slave.  This  is  the 
hour  of  your  supreme  triumph,  is  it  not — the  hour  for  which 
you  have  hungered  and  thirsted  and  longed?  All  you  have 
said  of  me  is  true;  I  have  owned  it.  Even  you  can  wish  me 
no  more  miserable  than  I  am.  The  hour  of  your  victory  has 
come.  You  have  nobly  avenged  Gerald  Rosslyn — now  share 
Gerald  Rosslyn's  fate!" 

Quick  as  lightning  flashes  she  drew  from  her  pocket  a  pis- 
tol. There  was  a  flash — a  report — a  scream  of  human  agony, 
and  Captain  Dandin  fell,  face  forward,  his  blood  and  brains 
bespattering  her  dress. 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    OLEN    QOWEB. 


^39 


[vill  ate 

|ra;  she 

them, 

igeless, 

)r. 

Jtlictive- 
iidame, 

inr"!  and 
ih!  no 

stroDg 

her  off. 
Gil- 
l  thing, 
n't  ask 
)  great, 
iter.  I 
lan  love 
sake;  1 
fe  loves 
?^ish  no 
id  now, 

)s^  that 

►r — my 

is  the 
which 

a  have 

ish  me 

)ry  has 

r  share 

.  a  pis- 
igony, 
brains 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

**THE   WAGES  OF  SIN   IS  DEATH." 

It  was  three  hours  later.  Up  in  his  room,  whither  they 
had  conveyed  him.  Captain  Dandin  lay  dying. 

The  light  burned  low.  By  its  dull,  pale  gleam  liis  daugh- 
ter knelt  beside  him.  Colonel  Varueck  stood  near,  and  a 
physician  bent  over  him.  His  doom  had  been  pronounced — 
ere  another  hour  he  would  be  numbered  with  the  dead. 

No  tear  fell,  no  sob  sounded  in  that  death-room.  Valencia 
knelt,  stonily  still,  white  as  the  dying  man.  Mme.  Varneck 
had  told  her  all.  She  knew,  at  last,  who  her  mother  was — 
whom  for  so  many  years  she  had  longed  to  see — the  basest  and 
most  abandoned  of  her  sex — a  murderess — a  double  mur- 
deress. 

Up  in  her  chamber,  that  guilty  mother  crouched,  her  door 
careiully  guarded.  Until  morning  she  might  remain  there. 
With  the  morning  light  she  would  leave  the  house  she  had 
desecrated,  forever — for  a  life-long  prison's  cell. 

Eudora  knew  all,  too.  Madame  had  gone  to  her  in  pity, 
and  repeated  Captain  Dandin's  story.  She  knew  at  last  that 
never  for  one  poor  instant  had  she  a  right  to  the  name  she 
bore;  she  knew  that  Colonel  Varneck  was  no  parent  of  hers, 
nor  the  guilty  woman  her  mother.  She  knew  now  who  Mrs. 
Lauriston  was,  and  the  lover  she  had  once  rejected. 

**  What  a  wretch  I  have  been!"  she  thought,  with  untold 
bitterness.  **  I  refused  him  with  scorn,  upstart  that  I  am, 
when  he  was  the  heir  of  Glen  Gower  all  the  while. " 

She  remained  in  her  room  by  Mme.  Varneck's  command. 

"You  can  do  no  good  in  the  sick-chamber,"  she  said; 
**  such  horrors  are  not  for  you,  child.  Remain  where  you 
are." 

And  then,  pale  and  stern,  madame  glided  back  to  the  room 
of  the  dying  man.  Livid  he  lay,  his  life-blood  pumping  with 
every  breath. 

**  If  you  would  like  to  see  a  clergyman,"  observed  Dr. 
Brithwood,  *'  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Your  moments  on 
earth  are  numbered." 

"  A  clergyman  " — he  repeated  the  words  with  a  faint,  de- 
risive smile — ''a  clergyman  for  mef  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  of,  my  friend. " 

He  turned  suddenly  to  Colonel  Varneck,  a  fierce  light  leap- 
ing  into  his  dull  eyes. 


fii"». 


«iitg,  'iggy '    m^Mm  mmm 


240 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEK    OOWER« 


'.r 


'*  Where  is  she?"  he  asked. 

*'  ]n  her  own  room." 

**  Don't  let  hor  escape — mind,  I  charge  you.  She  shall 
hang  like  a  do^  for  this.  Curse  her!  she  said  I  had  reason  to 
fear  her,  but  1  would  not  be  warned.  But  from  my  grave  1 
will  pursue  her — in  my  coffin  1  will  hunt  her  down!  Fairy  " 
— he  grasped  the  girrs  hand  suddenly — '*  remember  your 
dying  father's  injunction — hunt  that  murderess  to  her  doom!" 

•'  Captain  Dandin,"  said  Colonel  Varneck,  **  what  is  it  you 
mean?    On  your  own  showing,  you  are  no  father  of  hers." 

Again  that  derisive  smile  played  about  the  ghastly  lips. 

**  That  is  my  last  secret,  colonel.  I  am  her  father;  1  have 
deceived  you  all.  1  am  not  Captain  Dandin;  I  am  Gerald 
Eosslyn.' 

"  uerald  Rosslyn?    A  dead  man?" 

**  Soon  to  be,  tnon  colonel — not  yet.  That  was  part  of  my 
vengeance.  She  thought  1  was  dead — thought  herself  a  mur- 
deress. Well,  she  was;  but  only  in  desire — only  in  intention. 
The  shot  she  fired  at  Gerald  Kosslyn  on  his  wedding-night 
struck  him  down — disfigured  him  for  life — made  him  the 
hideous  object  you  see — but  did  not  kill  him  outright.  Bet- 
ter for  her  it  had.  1  rose  from  that  sick-bed  a  disgusting  ob- 
ject of  ugliness,  scorned  by  the  bride  who  had  loved  me  only 
for  my  good  looks,  cast  off  by  her  friends.  Then  it  was  I 
swore  my  vengeance.  I  took  my  child  and  went  to  Spain.  1 
came  back  only  tn  hunt  the  tigrcvss  down.  For  nine  loug  years 
I  have  made  her  life  a  misery  to  her — a  torture— a  living 
death.  Why  " — the  derisive  smile  appeared  once  more — "  1 
ev^en  played  ghost  for  her  benefit.  A  wax  mask,  cleverly 
made  after  a  picture  taken  in  early  youth,  enabled  me  to 
frighten  her  into  spasms  two  or  three  times.  She  thought  it 
Gerald  Rosslyn's  ghost.  No,  my  colonel — learn  the  whole 
truth  at  last  I  am  Gerald  Rosslyn,  whose  life  Adelia  Lyou 
has  twice  attempted — has  this  time  taken — and  who  shall  pay 
the  full  penalty  of  her  crime.  My  Fairy  " — he  grasped  ner 
wrist  in  his  icy  hand — **  are  you  listening?  Will  you  heed- 
will  you  obey  me?" 

**1  will." 

**  Then  swear  to  pursue  that  woman  to  the  scaffold — swear 
to  deliver  her  up  to  justice — swear  to  hunt  her  as  1  have 
hunted  her  down." 

**  Man,  man!''  cried  the  colonel,  in  horror,  **  remember 
you  are  dying — remember  she  is  her  mother."  -  -  ^^ 

"  1  remember.     Swear,  my  daughter. "  .k^^K  «^ 

'*  I  swearl" 


^\' 


«»-^ 


t.r 


shall 

|ison  to 

frave  1 

'airy  " 

|r  your 

loom!" 

it  you 

ra." 

)8. 

1  have 
[Gerald 


of  my 
a  mur- 

ontion. 
y^-night 
im  the 
Bet- 
ing ob- 
ne  only 
t  was  I 
ain.  1 
g  years 
I  living 
re— *'l 
cleverly 
me  to 
ught  it 
whole 
a  Lyou 
all  pay 
►ed  ner 
heed— 


-swear 
1  have 

lember 


THE    HEIRE8S    OF    OLEN    (JOWER. 


241 


The  words  dropped  from  her  white  lips.  Her  groat,  dark 
eyes  were  dilated  in  unutterable  horror. 

**  That  is  my  own  Fairy.  All  I  possess  in  the  world  1  hare 
left  to  you.  My  will,  my  vauables,  my  money,  are  all  in 
yonder  drawer.  Here  is  the  key.  Watch  by  my  aide.  Fairy, 
until  the  last;  then  send  for  the  odlcers  of  justice  and  deliver 
that  woman  up." 

**  I  will."    And  then  an  awful  silence  fell. 

*  >K  «  *  •  «  * 

The  midnight  hour  struck. 

Up  in  her  own  room,  this  last  night,  the  guilty  woman 
cowered,  her  face  hidden,  a  dull,  painless  apathy  numbing 
every  sense. 

She  scarcely  suffered — the  anguish  and  the  remorse  had 
alike  passed.  Nothing  remained  but  to  face  her  inevitable 
doom. 

She  looked  up,  listening  dully,  as  a  loud-voiced  clock  struck 
the  solemn  hour. 

**  The  last  I  shall  ever  hear,"  she  thought.  **  The  new  day 
I  shall  never  see  has  dawned  on  the  world." 

And  then  her  thoughts  drifted  away — drifted  strangely  into 
the  past.  The  pretty  room,  with  all  its  bright  luxuries,  faded 
away.  A  wild  forest  scene  arose  before  her.  Again  it  wai 
midnight — a  black  and  wrathful  midnight — a  wild  gale  sigh- 
ing through  the  trees,  a  storm-rack  of  clouds  scudding  over 
the  sky.  Again  she  stood  at  the  lonely  forest  junction,  with 
Gerald  Rosslyn  by  her  side,  waiting  for  the  stage  to  pass. 
Again  that  fierce  storm  broke;  again  they  were  overthrown; 
again  she  saw  the  rude  New  Jersey  farm-house  where  her 
child  was  born,  where  the  lover  of  her  youth  deserted  her, 
where  her  heart  turned  to  iron. 

**  If  he  had  only  been  true — if  1  had  only  been  his  wife, 
how  different  it  all  might  have  been!"  she  thought,  drearily. 
**  1  don't  think  1  was  always  base;  but  that  man  drove  me 
mad.  Have  1  ever  been  sane  since?  Have  I  been  a  mad 
woman  all  these  years  without  knowing  it?  What  a  shame- 
ful record  it  is  that  lies  behind  me,  and  how  soon  it  will  all 
end  now!" 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  window;  a  stone  came  crashing 
through  the  glass.  She  picked  it  up.  A  written  paper  in- 
folded it,  written  in  Gilbert  Varneck's  hand: 

"He  is  dead.  The  oflSoers  of  justice  will  soon  be  here. 
Your  window  is  unguarded.  A  ladder  is  beneatL  There  ia 
yet  time.    FlyJ" 


r> 


,?-/ 


<-*• 


2i2 


THB    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


She  read  it  over,  a  strange,  slow  smile  creeping  over  her 
face. 

'VSe  is  very  good,"  she  said,  *'  to  think  of  me — very  good. 
Oh,  my  love!  will  she — your  wife— ever  love  you  as  I  have 
done?  Fly?  Yed,  1  will  fly.  The  neck  your  dear  arm  has 
encircled  will  never  be  profaned  by  the  hangman's  rope.  But 
if  I  could  only  see  you  once,  first!" 

She  went  to  the  window,  drew  adde  the  curtain,  and  looked 
out. 

No,  he  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  ladder  of  ropes  stood  un- 
der her  casement,  but  he  was  gone. 

**  Not  even  this,"  she  said — "  not  even  this.  Then,  my 
dear  love,  farewell — farewell  forever!" 

She  looked  up  at  the  purple  midnight  sky,  all  brilliant  with 
summer  stars.  The  moon  sailed  high;  the  silvery  sea  lay 
asleep  beneath.  All  the  earth  was  beauty  and  peace.  One 
look,  and  she  dropped  the  curtain  and  turned  slowly  away. 

From  the  breast  of  her  dress  she  drew  forth  a  bottle  labeled 
*  Laudanum — Poison."  With  a  steady  hand  she  lifted  a 
glass  and  emptied  into  it  the  dark-red  liquid;  with  a  steady 
hand  she  raised  it  to  her  lips  and  drained  it  to  the  dregs.  She 
laid  bottle  and  glass  back  upon  the  table,  crossed  the  room, 
and  lay  down  upon  the  bed. 

I*  •!»  V  ^^  ^^  «|C  9|C 

Day  was  brightly  breaking — a  radiant  September  morning 
— when  the  constables,  for  whom  Valencia  had  sent,  reached 
the  house.  She  arose  from  beside  the  ghastly  corpse,  still 
and  stern  and  tearless,  at  their  approach. 

**  This  way,"  she  said;  '''  your  prisoner  is  here.  I  accuse 
Adelia  Lyon  of  the  willful  murder  ef  my  father,  Gerald 
Rosslyn!" 

She  led  the  way — the  constables  followed — up  to  the  room 
of  the  murderess.  It  was  not  even  locked;  a  guard  sat  with- 
out. 

They  entered.  The  night-lamp  still  burned;  the  roiy  dawn 
stole  brightly  in.  The  room  was  very  still.  Adelia  Lyon  lay 
upon  the  bed,  her  face  turned  to  the  wall. 

**  Arise!"  Valencia  said,  in  a  high,  clear  voice.  **  Mur- 
deress, awake!" 

But  she  never  stirred. 

One  of  the  constables  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

**  I  arrest  you,  ma'am,  in  the  name  of  the  law,  for  willful 
murder.     Come,  gat  upl" 

Bat  she  never  moiea. 


TiiE    HEIKESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


24£^ 


ver  her 

py  good. 

I  have 

larm  has 

le.    But 

looked 

bood  un- 

Ihen,  my 

ant  with 
sea  lay 
je.  One 
iway. 
e  labeled 
lifted  a 
a  steady 
■gs.  She 
e  room, 


morning 
,  reached 
pse,  still 

I  accuse 
,  Gerald 

he  room 
Jat  with- 

wiy  dawn 
jyon  lay 

**  Mur- 


loalder. 
p  willful 


I 


Valencia  bent  suddenly  over  her,  recoiled,  and  turned  upon 
them  with  a  ghastly  face. 

**  Too  late,"  she  baid.     "  She  has  escaped.     She  is  dead!" 

They  turned  her  over,  and  f.iw  it  was  true.  She  lay  before 
the  in,  out  of  their  reach,  stark  and  cold  as  her  victim. 

'*  Look  here,"  said  the  second  constable,  holding  up  the 
vial  and  glass.  "  This  has  done  the  job.  She  ought  to  have 
been  searched." 

They  moved  to  quit  the  room.  Valencia  made  a  step  after 
them,  staggered  blindly,  and  fell  to  the  ground  like  a  stone. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

VALENCIA'S    PLIGHT. 

It  was  all  over — the  last  ghastly  rites.  Under  the  sod  mur- 
deress and  victim  lay  in  the  nearest  burial-ground.  Gerald 
Rosslyn  and  Adelia  Lyon,  after  **  life's  fitful  fever,"  slept 
beneath  the  clay. 

They  were  back  at  the  house — the  silent  house  of  mourn- 
ing, darkened  by  the  shadow  of  an  awful  crime.  Like  ghosts 
they  moved  about,  pallid  and  avve-atruck,  speaking  only  in 
whispers — hushing  their  footfalls,  bating  their  breath,  their 
hearts  turuing  cold  within  them  at  thought  of  uhe  awful  trag- 
edy past  and  gone. 

In  the  room  that  was  hers,  "Valencia  Dandiu  sat,  looking 
out  with  dry,  tearless  eyes  at  the  fading  light.  The  white, 
cold  face  was  rigid  as  marble;  only  life  burned  intensely  in 
those  wild,  dark  eyes.  No  tear  had  fallen,  no  sob  had  been 
heard.  She  had  sat  frozen  in  that  tearless  calm  from  first  to 
last.  iShe  had  not  spoken  to  a  soul  in  the  house  since  she  had 
looked  upon  her  mother's  dead  face.  Ker  corpse-like  face 
frightened  them.  They  left  her  alone  with  her  dead,  afraid 
to  disturb  her — afraid  to  drive  her  mad. 

And  now  it  was  all  over,  and  what  remained?  She  sat  by 
the  window,  watching  the  low  light  dying  out  of  the  western 
sky,  and  thought,  with  a  dull  aching  at  her  Iieait,  of  what 
must  come  next.  The  roof  that  had  been  desecrated  by  her 
mother  and  father  could  shelter  her  no  longer.  They  were 
very,  very  kind  to  her.  She  felt  their  kindness  to  the  core  of 
her  heart,  but  she  saw  her  own  desolate  path  clear  and  plain. 
If  she  only  dared  to  do  as  that  wicked  mother  had  '^one — end 
her  life's  long  misery  with  her  own  hand.  She  shuddered  as 
the  horrible  temptation  filled  her  soul. 

"  No,  no,  no!*'  she  thought.     **  Keep  md,  M  great  God, 


f 


2U 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


f  L'om  that  last  unpardonable  crime.    Help  me  to  the  bittei 
end,  and,  in  Thy  mercy,  let  that  end  come  soon!" 

The  sun  dropped  out  of  sight  behind  the  misty  Maryland 
hills — the  last  rosy  glimmer  of  the  dying  day  faded  away. 
Moon  and  stars  rose  up  in  their  silver  beauty,  and  the  whip- 
poor-will  and  katydid  chanted  their  plaintive  vesper  lay.  The 
lonely  orphan  sat,  and  looked,  and  listened,  an  untold  night 
of  despair  looking  out  of  the  great,  melancholy,  dark  eyes. 
"  For  the  last  time,"  she  thought,  "  the  last  time!*' 
There  was  a  soft  rap  at  the  door.  She  crossed  and  opened 
it,  and  saw  the  kind,  commiserating  face  of  good  old  Mme. 
Varneck. 

*'  My  poor,  pale  girl!"  the  old  lady  said,  very  tenderly, 
'*  this  will  never  do.  Come  down,  Valencia;  it  is  the  wish  of 
all;  come  down  and  join  us.  Try  and  forget  your  troubles, 
my  poor  child  I" 

The  mournful  dark  eyes  softened.  She  lifteil  the  old  hand 
and  kissed  it 

**  You  are  all  too  kind,  too  good.  But,  dear  Madame  Var- 
neck, give  me  this  one  evening  to  myself.  Believe  me,  I  will 
never  forget  all  your  great  goodness  while  my  life  lasts. " 

**  It  must  be  as  you  say,  my  dear.  Then  to-morrow  you 
will  join  us  once  more?** 

**  To-morrow,"  she  repeated,  mournfully.  *'  Yes,  give  me 
nntil  to-morrow.     How  is  Eudora?'* 

**  Very  poorly— unable  to  leave  her  bed.  Dear  child,  those 
cruel  shocks  are  not  jood  for  her;  but  she  will  be  well  and 
happy  soon.  You  know  that  brave  boy,  her  lover — my  grand- 
son— is  here,  wild  to  see  her  once  more.  And  this  is  some- 
thing for  you.'' 

She  gave  her  a  little  twisted  note,  with  a  flash  of  her  keen 
old  eye  that  said,  **  I  know  all."  But  the  girl  took  it  with 
an  unmoved  face. 

"  Until  to-morrow,"  she  said,  softly,  *'dear  Madame  Var- 
neck, farewell!" 

Again  Valencia  kissed  the  wrinkled  hand.  Then  she  was 
alone — the  door  shut.  She  locked  it  this  time,  walked  back 
to  the  window,  opened  the  note  with  a  steady  hand,  and  by 
the  last  fading  ray  read  its  few  words: 


*'  My  own  dear  Love, — Come  to  me,  my  love,  my  bride, 
my  wife!  Come,  and  never  leave  me  ^ain.  You  know  how 
I  have  always  loved  you — in  your  loneliness  and  sorrow  1  love 
you  ten  thousand  times  mnro  than  ever.     Once  again  I  am 


bittet 

|ryland 

away. 

whip- 

The 

night 

>pened 
Mme. 

derlj, 
mh  of 
)ubles, 

I  hand 

e  Var- 
I  will 

w  you 

ive  me 

those 
^11  and 
rrand- 
tsome- 

keen 
i  with 

Var- 

)  was 
back 
d  by 


ride, 

how 

love 

am 


THE    HEIRESS    OP  GLEN    GOWEB. 


245 


free.    Forgive  the  past,  my  own  peerless  love,  and  come  homo 
to  the  heart  that  beats  only  for  you.  Annesley." 

She  read  it  slowly  and  steadily  to  the  end.  Then,  while  the 
silver  moon  sailed  up,  and  its  glory  fell  upon  her  like  a  bene- 
diction, she  laid  her  poor  pale  face  on  her  arm,  and  lay  as  if 
^e  never  cared  to  lift  it  again. 

And  the  slow  hours  passed — the  summer  night  wore  on. 
She  looked  up  at  last;  it  was  eleven  by  her  watch.  She  rose, 
drew  the  curtain,  lighted  her  lamp,  brought  forth  paper  and 
ink,  and  sat  down  by  the  table  to  write. 

The  first  was  a  few  lines  to  Mme.  Varneck.     It  ran: 


«< 


Dear  Friend, — Pardon  me;  I  shall  be  far  away  when 
you  see  this.  Do  not  follow;  I  will  never  return.  Your  kind- 
ness will  brighten  my  life  till  its  close,  but  under  this  roof  I 
can  never  set  foot  more.  Kiss  my  darling  Eudora  for  me. 
Tell  her  to  be  happy  with  her  brave  young  lover,  and  forget 

"Valencia." 

She  folded,  directed,  and  sealed  it  with  a  hand  that  never 
faltered,  with  an  eye  that  never  moistened.  Her  despair  was 
iskT  beyond  tears. 

She  took  a  second  sheet  and  wrote  again: 

"  My  dear  Lord, — If  I  had  never  loved  yon  before,  I 
should  have  loved  you  for  the  noble  words  you  have  sent  me 
in  my  misery  and  despair.  Until  this  poor  heart  ceases  to 
beat,  they  will  lie  above  it;  until  they  shut  me  in  my  coffin, 
the  memory  of  your  love  will  sweeten  and  bless  my  lonely  life. 
But  I  would  indeed  be  base  and  unworthy  were  1  to  accept 
such  a  sacrifice. 

**  No,  my  lord.  My  love,  my  prayers  are  yours — never  my 
wretched,  degraded  self.  Very  soon  you  will  be  happy  with 
some  one  worthy  of  you.  May  that  day  come  soon,  and  may 
the  good  God  bless  you  both!  Don't  follow  me — don't  hunt 
me  down!  Leave  me  alone  to  fight  the  battle  of  life.  The 
Father  of  the  fatherless  will  protect  and  keep  me;  and  one 
day,  my  love  I  my  love!  we  may  meet  in  heaven. 

'*  Farewell,  my  lord,  and  forever! 

**  Valencia." 

Still  no  tear — still  no  cry.    Heavy  as  lead  lay  the  heart  in 
ber  bosom,  but  fixed  as  fate  itself  was  her  purpose. 
She  sealed  this  note,  rose,  took  from  her  trunk  a  brass* 


mmm 


246 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


i 


ii 


bound  box,  the  key  in  the  lock,  wrapped  it  in  paper^  and  ad- 
dressed it  to  Mme.  Varneck. 

Within  that  box  lay  the  ancestral  diamonds,  not  a  stone 
missing. 

It  was  past  eleven  now;  the  house  was  still  as  the  grave. 
All  had  retired,  worn  out  with  long  vigils  and  dismal  watches. 
In  the  sick-chamber,  where  poor  Eudora  lay,  tossing  in  a  low 
fever,  and  in  the  long,  silent  corridors,  night-lamps  burneci. 
Ail  the  rest  of  the  household  were  asleep. 

She  took  her  bonnet  and  mantle  and  put  them  on.  Her 
earthly  belongings  were  all  contained  in  one  little  black  bag, 
packed  and  locked.  As  her  watch  pointed  to  twelve,  she  softly 
unlocked  her  door,  passed  out,  listened  a  second,  and  flitted 
on. 

Only  once  she  stopped  on  her  steady  way  out — once  at  Lord 
Annesley's  door.     She  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  threshold. 

"  My  love!  my  love!"  she  whispered. 

A  moment  later  and  she  was  out  under  the  shining  stars — 
an  outcast  and  a  wanderer — wrecked  in  the  world! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE     DAWN     OF    PEACE. 

The  last  day  of  September.  Pale  as  a  shadow,  wan  and 
weak,  Eudora  sat  looking  out  at  the  sunny  prospect  of  swell- 
ing meadow  and  dark  forest,  once  all  her  own. 

Very  sad  looked  the  sweet  blue  eyes,  wasted  and  worn  the 
little  hands  lying  idly  on  her  lap.  It  was  her  first  day  up, 
and  j>he  lay  among  her  pillows,  white  as  the  snowy  linen. 

A  low,  nervous  fever  had  prostrated  her  for  weeks.  She 
had  tossed  in  delirium;  she  had  babbled  pitifully  of  the  lover 
a  he  had  lost. 

"  Come  back,  Launcelot!"  had  been  her  cry.  **  Oh,  come 
back — come  back,  and  try  and  forgive  me!" 

Mme.  Varneck  rarely  left  her  by  night  or  day.  The  ten- 
derest  nursing,  the  most  devoted  love  was  hers,  and  the  first 
sight  that  met  her  eyes,  when  reason  returned,  was  the  sweet, 
beautiful  face  of  Launcelot's  mother. 

"  Mrs.  Lauriston,"  she  said,  feebly,  "  you  watching  me.'*'* 

*'  Mrs.  Lauriston  "  bent  and  kissed  her. 

*'  Not  ihat  name  now,  my  love.  1  am,  as  you  aro  going  jO 
be — Mrs.  Varneck." 

Eudora  hardly  understood  her.  She  covered  her  face  and 
turned  away.  She  dared  not  ask  for  Launcelot;  sh«  was  uu" 
worthy. 


id  ad- 
stone 

frave. 

^tches. 

a  low 

irneo. 

Her 

bag, 
softjj 

[flitted 


!?" 


THE    HEIBESS    OF    GLElT    60WEB. 


247 


She  never  spoke  again  while  Eleanor  Varneck  remained  in 
the  room.  She  turned  to  the  wall  and  lay  very,  very  still,  her 
heart  too  full  for  words.  She  heard  Colonel  "Yarneck  enter 
and  bend  above  his  wife. 

"  flow  is  our  little  girl  now,  Eleanor?" 

How  full  of  love  his  voice  was!  She  had  never  heard  him 
speak  like  that  in  all  the  days  gone  by.  And  the  low,  tender 
voice  of  Eleanor  answered: 

**  Better,  I  think.  She  knew  me  a  moment  ago.  She  has 
fallen  asleep  again,  so  1  may  leave  her." 

They  quitted  the  room  together — those  married  lovers— 
trebly  dear  to  each  other  from  their  long  separation. 

Still  Eudora  lay  there  ^d  never  stirred. 

**  Oh,  why  am  I  getting  better?"  she  thought,  bitterly. 
**  Why  have  I  not  died  and  made  an  end  of  it  all?" 

Presently  grandmamma  entered,  and  stooping,  kissed  the 
pale  cheek.  And  then  the  mournful  blue  eyes  opened. 
Eudora  could  never  be  afraid  of  her. 

*'  My  dear  little  girl!  And  I  thought  you  were  asleep! 
Grandmamma  is  so  glad  to  see  her  pet  almost  well  once  more. " 

*'  Oh,  grandmamma!"  with  a  sad,  sad  cry,  "  why  did  you 
nurse  me  back  to  health — to  life-long  sorrow?  Why  did  you 
not  let  me  die?" 

**  Because  we  have  no  idea  of  losing  our  bright  little  house- 
hold treasure;  because  we  could  not  get  along  without  our 
precious  Eudora.  Hurry  and  get  well,  my  pet,  and  never 
mind  talking  of  '  life-long  sorrow  '  and  such  nonsense.  I  long 
to  see  my  sunbeam  dancing  about  the  dull  qld  house  once 
more." 

Eudora  sighed  heavily,  and  there  was  a  silence.    Then: 

*'  Where  is  Valencia?"  she  asked. 

"  My  dear/*  madame  said,  regretfully,  "  Valencia  has  gone. 
We  don't  know  where,  and  we  can  not  find  her.  She  left  a 
note  for  me  and  one  for  Lord  Annesley,  and  she  fled  in  the 
night  She  bid  us  not  pursue  her,  but  search  has  been  made 
in  every  direction,  and  all  in  vain.  She  has  disappeared.  She 
left,  too,  the  family  diamonds — poor  child!" 

*'  And  Lord  Annesley?"  Eudora  said,  falteringly. 

**  Lord  Annesley  is  in  search  of  her.  He  wij  never  rest, 
he  says,  until  he  finds  her.  He  loves  her,  and  she  him,  and 
to  think  I  never  suspected  it!  She  has  behaved  nobly,  gen- 
erously, poor  girl!  From  first  to  last  she  has  been  '  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning.'  " 

Eudora's  ready  tears  fell  fast — she  had  loved  this  regal 
Spanish  girl  so  well. 


k 


*|4 


'M-vr 


fVV 


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fei/ 


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(( 


:iJ48  THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 

Did  she  leave  no  message  for  me,  grandmamma?'* 
She  left  her  love  and  her  best  wishes  for  your  happiness, 
with — well,  never  mind  whom!  Don't  let  us  talk  of  this  sad 
subject  any  longer.  Lord  Annesley  will  find  her,  no  doubt, 
and  cure  all  her  despair.  One  may  hope  so  much  for  a  young 
person  of  nineteen.  And  as  for  you,  my  dear,  the  sooner  you 
get  better  and  sit  up,  the  better  we  will  all  like  it." 

Eudora  rallied  fast.  A  week  after  she  was  able  to  sit  in 
her  arm-chair,  and  watch  the  brown  October  sunshine  filling 
the  world  with  glory.  Grandmamma,  the  colonel  and  his 
wife  were  all  that  was  kind,  and  tender,  and  good.  But  the 
memory  of  some  one  else,  whose  name  was  never  mentioned, 
weighed  down  her  heart  with  sorrow  and  shame. 

**  They  never  speak  of  him,  and  I  know  he  is  here,"  she 
thought,  mournfully.  '*  I  have  heard  his  voice  and  his  step 
in  the  passage  many  a  time  of  late.  He  hates  and  despises 
me  too  much  even  to  ask  how  1  am.  I  must  run  away,  like 
Valencia,  and  hide  myself  from  him  forever." 

A  rap  at  the  door.     Grandmamma,  no  doubt. 

**  Come  in,"  Eudora  said,  without  turning  her  tear- wet  face 
around. 

The  door  opened,  some  one  came  in,  shut  it,  and  stood  still. 

**  Eudora!"  said  a  voice. 

Had  she  been  dying,  that  dear  voice  would  have  recalled 
her  to  life.  She  started  to  her  feet  with  a  low,  thrilling  cry, 
and  saw  him  standing  before  her — her  hero,  her  lover,  her 

florious  young  Saxon  King  Olaf,  with  the  blue  eyes  and  golden 
air. 

"  Eudora!" 

She  made  a  step  toward  him,  both  hands  outstretched,  then 
stood  still.  He  could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  They  had 
told  him  to  be  very  calm — those  cold-blooded  people  outside — 
not  to  excite  her,  and  so  on,  but  who  was  to  withstand  all  th^t 
trembling,  fragile  innocence? 

With  two  strides  he  had  her  in  his  strong  arms,  crushing 
her  poor  weak  life  out,  covering  her  face  with  kisses,  and  pro- 
testing passionately  between: 

"  Forgive  me,  Eudora,  my  own  heart's  darling  I  I  ha7'> 
been  a  brute — a  monster!  and  you — oh,  my  dear  little  lovai 
to  think  that  you  should  have  been  sick  and  suffering  here^ 
and  they  should  have  kept  me  out  so  long!" 

She  lay  very  still— in  a  trance  of  unutterable  joy.  Once 
flhe  whispered : 

*'  Then  you  forgive  me,  Launcelot?    You  love  me  still?" 

Lsuncelot's  answer  was  not  in  words,  but  it  was  eminently 


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satisfactory  and  to  the  point.  And  Eudora's  last  sad  tear  was 
shed;  for  if  she  ever  wept  again,  it  must  be  on  his  breast,  and 
there  even  tears  were  bhsa. 


* 


The  close  of  a  sleety  November  day.  The  shrill  wind 
whistled  up  and  down  the  dull  London  street,  and  drove  the 
frozen  snow  before  it  in  whirling  clouds.  A  drear,  dark, 
wintery  twilight,  an  evening  for  bright  fires,  and  glowing 
lamps,  and  happy  fireside  circles, 

A  young  girl  stood  by  the  window  of  an  imposing-looking 
mansion,  gazing  out  it  this  leaden  twilight.  The  mansion 
was  a  young  ladies'  seminary,  and  the  young  girl  a  teacher  of 
music  and  Spanish — a  tall  and  stately  girl,  with  a  darkly  beau- 
tiful face,  colorless  as  marble,  and  grave  with  a  gravity  far 
beyond  her  years.  Very  sad  was  the  light  in  those  fathomless 
dark  eyes — very  deep  the  lines  of  pain  and  trouble  about  that 
sweet,  patient  mouth.  She  wore  deepest  mourning,  but  the 
crape  and  bombazine  without  was  only  a  sign  of  the  deeper 
sorrow  of  the  heart. 

A  servant  entered  and  lighted  the  gas. 

*''  There's  a  visitor  for  you.  Miss  Ross,"  she  said,  briskly — 
**  a  gentleman.  Will  you  go  down  to  the  drawing-room,  or 
shall  I  show  him  up  here?" 

"  A  visitor  for  me!"  Miss  Ross  repeated,  in  surprise — **  a 
gentleman?    Are  you  sure  there  is  no  mistake,  Maria?" 

*'  Quite  sure,  miss.     He  asked  for  Miss  Ross  as  plain  aa 

Elain.  It's  Miss  Constance  Trevanna's  uncle.  I  have  seen 
im  here  before." 

"  Ah!  on  school  business,  no  doubt.  Very  well,  Maria;  L 
will  go  down. " 

She  quitted  the  parlor  and  descended  to  the  drawing-room. 
A  gentleman,  sitting  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  gas-light,  arose 
upon  her  entrance.  As  her  eyes  fell  upon  him,  she  recoiled 
with  a  low,  wild  cry. 

**  At  last!"  the  gentleman  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  "  after 
three  weary,  endless  years.     At  last,  Valencia!" 

He  made  a  step  toward  her,  but  she  put  out  both  hands  to 
keep  him  off. 

'*  And  I  thought  I  was  safe  here — 1  thought  I  might  forget 
the  past — I  thought  1  might  find  peace!  And  you  come  and 
undo  it  all.     My  lord — my  lord!  you  are  very  cruel!" 

**  Yes,"  said  Lord  Annesley,  coming  nearer;  **  if  to  love 
you  with  a  deathless  love  be  cruel,  then  1  am.  Valencia,  I 
have  searched  the  world  over  for  you.     Since  that  most  mis* 


I', 


II 


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THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER. 


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erable  night,  three  years  ago,  1  have  never  known  rest.  I 
have  been  on  the  wing  early  and  late — over  the  world  for  you, 
and  all  in  vain.     Valencia,  it  is  you  who  are  cruel,  not  I!*' 

'*  How  did  you  find  me  now?'^  she  asked,  looking  at  him. 

I  thought  i  was  safe  here/' 

**  By  the  merest  chance.  1  returned  to  England  after  my 
fruitless  search,  in  despair,  and  Constance  Trevanna,  one  of 
your  pupils,  found  me  my  treasure.  She  was  raving  of  her 
Spanish  teacher — so  beautiful,  so  mysterious,  so  sad!  There 
could  not  be  two  in  tho  world  so  alike.  I  came  here  to-night 
on  the  chance  of  finding  you,  as  the  drowning  catch  at  straws, 
and — I  7i(  je  found  you,  and,  Valencia,  twill  never  lose  you 
again. " 

**  My  lord — my  lord!  what  are  you  saying?  Have  you  for- 
gotten the  past?  Oh,  why  did  you  not  leave  me  to  the  peace 
these  three  dreary  years  have  brought?  Why  recall  the  trag- 
ical days  gone  forever?  Why  did  you  seek  me  out  to-night 
and  undo  it  all?" 


(( 


Because  I  love  you,  Valencia,  with  a  love  that  can  only 
end  when  they  lay  me  in  my  coffin;  because  I  have  been  a 
lonely,  wretched,  aimless  wanderer  since  I  lost  you;  because 
life  without  you  is  not  worth  the  having.  Oh,  my  love — my 
love!  don't  be  cruel — don't  send  me  away  again!" 

His  arms  clasped  her — her  bead  fell  on  his  breast  with  a 
great  sob.  Life  was  so  dreary,  and  aha  loved  him  so  dearly — 
so  dearly ! 

**  Do  not  tempt  me,  my  lord,"  she  said,  in  a  choking 
voice.  **  I  am  very  weak  and  wretched;  but  1  must  not  listen 
to  your  pleading.  I  can  not  drag  you  down  to  my  degraded 
level.  The  memory  of  your  love  and  dovetion  is  brightness 
enough  for  all  my  future  li';e.  Oh,  my  lord!  don't  make  me 
false  to  myself  and  to  yoo.  Leuve  me  now  while  I  have 
strength  to  bid  you  go!" 

**  1  will  never  leave  you,''  he  said,  drawing  her  closer, 
**  until  I  have  your  promise  to  be  ray  wife.  1  will  wait  just 
one  month  for  that  blissful  time— not  an  hour  longer.  The 
world  is  wide.  Together  we  can  be  happy;  apart  there  can 
be  nothing  but  misery  for  either  of  us.  Valencia,  my  heart's 
darling,  let  rne  hear  you  say  once  what  those  sweet  lips  have 
never  said  yet,  *  I  love  you!'  " 

Her  armi  encircled  his  neck — the  sweet,  beautiful  lips  met 
hii  in  a  lon-?^,  passionate  kiss. 

**  I  love  you,  Clarence,  with  aH  my  heart — as  1  hftT6  loved 
you  since  I  saw  you  first! ' 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    GLEN    GOWER 


m 


it  was  half  an  hour  later.    Valencia  looked  op  from  her 
silent  trance  of  joy  with  a  bright,  shy  smile. 


^   'm 


**  And  now,  Clarence,  tell  me  about  our  friends  in  far-oflP 
Maryland.  How  has  it  been  with  them  for  the  past  three 
years?" 

'*  Well.  Perfect  peace,  perfect  earthly  joy,  reign  at  Glen 
Gower.  The  colonel  and  his  wife  are  a  model  of  married 
lovers;  and  Launcelot  and  Eudora,  of  course,  are  at  the  sum- 
mit of  human  bliss. " 

**  They  are  married,  of  course?" 

*'  Of  course — married  over  two  years;  and  there  is  «  ^nung 
lady  who  adds  to  their  felicity — a  Miss  Eleanor  Lauriston 
Varneck — who  made  her  appearance  some  twelve  months 
since,  and  is,  as  usual,  a  perfect  paragon  of  all  babies.  I  have 
her  picture  somewhere,  and  a  rapturous  description  of  her 
transcendent  charms  from  papa.  Our  wedding-tour,  Valen- 
cia, shall  be  to  Maryland,  to  see  this  wonderful  little  H«ireiP 
of  Glen  Gower. " 


(v 


■  y 


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File  Number  113 

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Lover  or  Friend 

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62  Marquis,  The 

63  Martyred  Love,  A 
04    Mary  St.  John 

65  Micha  Clarke 

66  Not  Like  Other  Girls 

67  Nurse  Revel's  Miotake 

68  Old  Mam'sell's  Secret 

69  Old  Myddleton's  Money 

70  Oliver  Twist 

71  Olivia 
72 
73 
74 
75 
76 
77 
78 

79 
80 
81 
82 
83 
84 
85 
86 
87 
88 
89 
90 
91 
92 
93 
94 
95 
96 
97 


Only  a  Girl's  Love 
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Prince  of  the  House  of 

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98  Staunch  of  Heart 

99  Stella's  Fortune 

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43  In  Freedom's  Cause. G.A.  Henty 

44  In  the  Reign  of  Terror. . .   " 

45  In  Times  of  Peril . .  ..G.  A.  Henty 

46  Jack  Harkaway's  School  Days. . 

Hemyng 

47  Jack's  Ward H.  Alj^r.  Jr 

48  Jed,  th    Poorhouse  Boy. ." 
40  Julius,  the  Street  Boy . .      " 

60  Last  of  the  Mohicans. . .  .Cooper 


61  Life  of  Kit  Carson. . .  .E.  S.  Ellis 
52  Lion  of  St.  Mark G.A.  Henty 

63  Little  by  Little O.  Optio 

64  Lone  Ranch Capt.  M.  Reid 

55  Lion  of  the  North.  .G.  A.  Henty 

56  Luke  Walton H.  Alger,  Jr. 

57  Making  His  Way " 

58  Mysterious  Island. .  .Jules  Verne 

59  Now  or  Never O.  Optic 

60  One  of  the  28th. .    .G.  A  .Henty 

61  Only  an  Irish  Boy . .  H.  Alger,  Jr. 

62  Out  On  the  Parnpas G  plenty 

63  Pathfinder.  .J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

64  Paul  the  Peddler..  .H Alger.  Jr. 
66  Phil,  the  Fiddler " 

66  Pioneers,  The 

J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

67  Poor  and  Proud O.  Optio 

68  Prairie,  The J.  F.  Cooper 

69  Ralph  Raymond's  Heir..  .Alger 

70  Rifle  Rangers. .  .  .Capt.  M.  Reid 

71  Risen  From  the  Ranks ^\S^f 

72  Robinson  Crusoe D.  DeFoe 

73  Sam's  Chance H.  Alger,  Jr. 

74  Scalp  Hunters Cap t.^M.  Reid 

76  Shifting  for  Himself. A.lger 

76  Sl6w  aqd  Sure 

77  Spy,  The J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

78  Star  of  India. E.  S.  Ellis 

79  Store  Boy,  The H.  Alger,  Jr. 

80  Strive  and  Succeed " 

81  Strong  and  Steady *' 

82  Sturdy  and  Strong. .  G.  A.  Henty 

83  Through  the  Fray ** 

84  Tom,  t^e  Boot-Black AJwr 

86  Tom  Brown's  School  Days 

ISughea 

86  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford. . .  " 

87  Tour  of  the  World  in  Eighty 
Days VenM 

88  -      * 
89 
90 
91 


92 
93 
94 

95 
96 
97 
98 
99 


Try  Again O.  Optio 

Try  and  Trust H.  Alger,  Jr. 

Treasure  Island Stevenson 

Twenty  Thousand  Leagues 

Under  the  Sea. . .  .Jules  Verne 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin Stowo 

With  Clive  in  India Henty 

Wood  Rangers,  or  Trappers  of 

Sonora 

Young  Acrobat H.  Alger,  Jr. 

Young  Carthaginians. . .  .Henty 

Young  Colonists 

Young  Ouuw H.  Alger,  Jr. 

, .  .He 


Yotitig  Midshipman 


lenty 


100  Young  Salesman Alger 


For  sale  by  all  Book  and  If ewsdealen*  or  will  be  sent  to  any  address  in  tlit 

U.  S.,  Caik£i'<«  or  M exico»  post  paid  upon  receipt  of  price*  75c  each* 

in  currencyt  money  order  or  stamps. 

ML  A.  Donohue  &  Co.  ^-^M^SSST 


J 


I 


Mrsm  jL.  T.  Meade 
Serie*f 


AN  EXCELLENT  edition  of  the  works  of  this  very 
^^  popular  author  of  books  for  girls.  Printed  from  large 
type  on  an  extra  quality  of  paper,  cover  design  stamped  in 
three  colors,  large  side  title  letterings,  each  book  in  glazed 
paper  printed  wrapper. 

Bad  Little  Hannah 

A  Bunch  of  Cherries 
Children's  Pilgrimage 
Daddy's  Gkl 

Deb  and  the  Duchess 
Frances  Kane's  Fortune 
A  Girl  of  the  People 
Good  Luck  A  Girl  in  Ten  Thousand 

The  Honorable  Miss  Girls  of  St.  Wodes 

Light  of  the  Morning 

Little  Mother  to  the  Others 
The  Medicine  Lady- 
Merry  Girls  of  England 
Palace  Beautiful  A  Modern  Tomboy 

Polly— A  New  Fashioned  Girl  Out  of  Fashion 

School  Favorite 

Sweet  Girl  Graduate 
Time  of  Roses 

A  Very  Naughty  Girl 
WUd  Kitty 

World  of  Girls 

Young  Mutineer 


ANY  OF  ABOVE  TITLES  SENT  POST- 
PAID UPON  RECEIPT  OF  FIFTY  CENTS 


M,  A.  'Donohue  i^l  Co, 


4-07 '4-29  Tiearborn  Street 


CHICJ^GO 


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